The neighbors are crazy, load by voice, foot and music.
Sometimes I want to open a hole in my floor and yell at them.
She is nice, the mother. She has two boys and she is never home.
The boys stomp, roll and wrestle more then they should and they
always make to much noise.
I am up, awake, woke by the smashing of feet, arms and elbows
that met with hardwood floors; It is a sound that is familiar. Walking
slowly to the kitchen, a fresh pot of tea I've started. Boom! Bam!
Crash! micro earthquakes erupt beneath my feet; morning has
begun, albeit not my choice. patience
I suppose it is no different then my brief years as a young boy.
I must admit -- It was fun! The joy of fighting off ones best mate
or sibling. The feeling of victor for being the strongest; it was
So, I will lay here in bed rubbing my belly, sipping my green
ginger tea, and ponder the time when I was a boy and I was
the crazy neighbor. :)