I watch as the party rages on across the way.
It’s now officially after midnight,
and no one’s phoned the cops.
Have I reached that age
where I’m the neighborhood codger
who has to do the deed?
I have no megaphone,
but I do have an old Mr. Microphone.
If I still had a radio I’d turn it up to 10.
Then they’d be hearing something from me.
Oh, there’s no battery, it’s a dead microphone anyway.
And this is a very live pandemic party.
They must be breaking numbers restrictions.
Probably no masks.
I never wish people ill health or, heaven forbid, worse.
I notice someone’s car is parked a foot into my driveway.
I listen to the noise, the inconsideration, wonder about wishes.