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Marge Piercy - The Neighbor

Man stomping over my bed in boots 
carrying a large bronze church bell 
which you occasionally drop: 
gross man with iron heels 
who drags coffins to and fro at four in the morning, 
who hammers on scaffolding all night long, 
who entertains sumo wrestlers and fat acrobats--
I pass you on the steps, we smile and nod. 
Rage swells in me like gas. 
Now rage too keeps me awake. 

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Poet: Marge Piercy
Poem: The Neighbor
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