Across the street a blue van pulls 
up to the curb – eventually a man 
and his daughter, I assume, or child 
bride maybe, emerge and knock 
brightly at my neighbor’s house.

Carol Burnett tells jokes on my TV and I,
Gladys Kravitz, watch them smiling pass
a pamphlet through a crack in the door then
turn as I dash suddenly down the hall, hiding
from the knock that does not come.