Neighborhood Watch
I definitely feel like he’s watching me,
feel like he’s definitely watching.
Without my consent
and questionable intent.
I definitely feel like he’s watching
He’s talking to me and everyone else,
to himself, it seems like he’s talking.
He’s in a house all alone
no wife or kids to call his own
To himself, it seems like he’s talking.
He has always wanted to have a neighbor just like me?!
Why can’t he settle for puppets in the Land of Make-Believe?
So let’s change the channel and get lost in cartoons
with anvils falling and bombs for balloons.
To run and escape, run and escape.
This really creepy “neighbor”
No, I won’t be. Please stop asking me.
To just be,
your neighbor.
The very next day, he repeated his routine
The next day, his routine he repeated.
Without any pride
as humbly as pie
The next day he repeated his routine.
As he talked I hid under my chair,
under the chair I was hiding.
Full of dust bunnies and hair
dirty toys with germs. Unaware.
As he talked I hid under my chair.
I don’t even talk to my neighbors who live around me.
Mom and Dad said it’s dangerous to do so, in reality.
So I was cautious of Mr. Rogers and all he stood for,
as I watched him, watch me, on the living room floor.
As I hid and escaped, hid and escaped this
extremely “creepy neighbor.”
I was only three
when he calmly asked me
from t.v.
to just be
his neighbor.
Serving Artist aka Jamila Jones