Get Quiet

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.