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Greg Razran

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The Neighbor
by Greg Razran

Sunday, August 17, 2003

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Recent poems by Greg Razran
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           >> View all 37

My neighbor is dead.
He was a retired math teacher,
That's pretty much all I know.
I've only seen him three or four times;
He always wore a plaid St. John's Bay shirt
And was sitting on the front steps,
Waiting for the annoying buzz of the dryer
To come along.
Looking back , I remember he looked sad,
Though I didn't think much of it at the time.
The strange, acrid smell started to seep
Out of his apartment at the end of May.
At first I thought he might've gone out of town
And forgot to take out the garbage, but by the third night
I knew, however subconsciously, what was up.
The land-lady came over after her shift at the hospital;
'I know that smell' she said; 'I know that smell,'
And her face got pale. She unlocked the door.
Five minutes later she told me he has collapsed onto the floor,
Surrounded by half a dozen empty bottles of whiskey and one
Unopened pint of scotch. The place reeked terribly;
It was dark and stuffy; She quickly closed the door.
I could already hear the police and ambulance sirens in the distance.

For days, I felt creeped out walking into the building; even sitting
in my apartment. I knew this was stupid, but I felt I could've done something.
I never tried to strike up a conversation with him; just a quick hi how are you, etc.
He didn't die of loneliness, but I felt that he did; at least a part of him did.
A week later, his ex-wife and his estranged son dropped by;
They came in an old Chevy truck, which they loaded with his few belongings;
No furniture, mostly old books and outdated shirts and pants.
As I watched them drive off, I suddenly pictured him in my mind:
An old man in a plaid shirt, hands on his knees,
Watching the drum of the dryer spin round and round.

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Reviewed by Lois Christensen 5/19/2008
Great write, I often tell my daughters I don't like living alone cause I might die and lay there for days. They laugh it off. I guess what is meant to be will be though. Poor man, just if you would of knocked on his door only once he might have left you into his sad life.
Reviewed by Tami Ryan 11/5/2005
This is one of those in-your-face writes that we need to read more often. Good work, Greg.

Reviewed by Sandra Mushi 11/4/2005
Great write, Greg! Sad but wonderfully written!

God bless,

Reviewed by Jennifer Holly MacDonald 11/26/2003
It does does us all good to read work like this so we have a chance to decide how it's our own lives are going to pan out.
Reviewed by ya mama (Reader) 10/29/2003
another great poem
Reviewed by Michelle Hudson (Reader) 9/10/2003
Everyday life for some becomes so routine, and so empty. No sparks of happiness, no light of hope, no love in lonely dark shadows. They have become "The Forgotten".
You have painted a picture with the choice of your words.
Well done!
Best of life to you, always!
Reviewed by nevine Al Seidi (Reader) 8/17/2003
So painful and so humane of you!
Reviewed by Lady Peg (Reader) 8/17/2003
This one is emotional And done well.
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