Neighbor

He never puts on a shirt
As he stands in the fading sun
Quietly rocking back and forth
With the beer in his hand.

It's distracting to man and beast
As the jogger can't help but stare
And her Beagle pulls on the leash
Toward his lawn.

Fifteen years he's sat on that porch
Looking over the changing landscape
Of young couples gaining their first child
And losing their minds.

Like a Sphinx. Like a watchman of time
He holds the answers to random moments
Of his neighborhood. Who owns this lot?
Where is the fence line? Why should we care?

So he stands on his holy ground
In his too tight shorts and too narrow mind
Explaining to no one in particular what should be
And what will be.

A moving statue of a bygone era that no one wants back.
And when asked to put on a shirt
He merely remarks:
"Do I tell you how to live?"

And we live under the names of neighbors...
Even though we have no idea who we are.