He mows his lawn when I am wont to nap,
Or picks that moment for a family scrap.
His lot is large, yet where he ties his pup
The dog’s in MY house if my window’s up.
His television and his radio
May only play at LOUD, for all I know.
When his son’s grades by one iota mount,
The neighbors get a play-by-play account.
Repairwork? If he has a nail to drive
The entire town’s aware he is alive.
I hear him whistle nightly, sad, off-key,
Putting his car away at half-past three.
Grownups may be less troublesome than boys,
But some contain the same amount of noise!
by Ray Romine Friday, February 1, 1952
