...

Neighbors

They waited more than a month to wave.
It was on a Sunday that they rang our door bell.
At three in the afternoon, without notice, they visit.
After an hour of family lore, and local tall tales,
they got up to leave, refusing dessert and drink.
They lived across the street, so they walked home.
Not one question from then about us. No interest.
They were a couple in their fifties and long married.
When they left, we knew a good bit about them;
their family, children, illnesses, deaths of unknowns,
and we knew that they liked us.

We had been warned that mountain people were
strange and kept to themselves. Our neighbors were
more than that. They were all we'd ever herd about,
and they let us know acceptance by asking us to
come over to see them on Saturday, so the four of
us could pick some greens, beans, and yellow
squash. She adds that the tomatoes might be
about ready by then. He turns to me, and in a low
man-to- man manner, he adds that while the
women folks were washing the garden vittles,
the two of us might walk down to the creek and
pull that gallon jug up out of the cold water, to
pour out a stiff one or two... that is..... if I was
a drinking man, and be a might thirsty by then.


F William Broome 2008