the neighbor’s brats
are on my lawn again
they don’t care
how much damage they do

they scuff my sidewalk
tear up my grass
crash into my mailbox
throw their candy wrappers

they are always
singing and laughing

who do they think they are?

wait ’til they grow up a little
they will learn
they won’t smile so much

and where is the father?
i see the mom sometimes,
never him

i am the one who gives them water–
and cookies, too,
from time to time

i may get out of this Laz-E-Boy™
and go out there
and yell at them
again

but it does no good
they’ll be back tomorrow

they’ll be on my lawn
long after i’m six feet under
the lawn at Brush Creek Cemetery

if only they’d spare
the flowers,
instead of bending the stalks–
ripping them out–
only to leave
the blooms suffering 
on the sidewalk,
trampled under little feet
and tricycle wheels

my wife
planted those daylilies
three years ago
just before she died

they are all i have
left