Member-only story
Loud Garbage
A poem about pet peeves
Loud Garbage
I finished picking up someone else’s trash
in the alleyway only to have the neighboring
garage blast their bass so loud it clashes
with the pulse beating in my eardrums,
and the people in the zoom meeting with me
ask what is that noise so I have to apologize
for something that isn’t mine to control
because when I go out to ask the men to
turn their noise down they act as if
I am not there, as if they don’t speak English,
as if I am not even talking, so I no longer even try.
I glance out the window that gazes at the willow tree
standing at the side of the alley
and my eye catches movement
at the side of that loud neighboring garage;
my eyes unwillingly witness one of the many drunks
swaying, zipper open, partaking of the
spot of yellowed grass, evidently too lazy
to walk a couple of feet to the house’s bathroom.
