Town like the Town Well

We meetup all the time. With all the human relationships we have and have had in Somerville. Like the other day I ran into my Kindergarten teacher who reminded me I'm a writer and to keep it up. With two religion teachers that hugged me and slapped my face and said its been years. I like the idea of helping neighbor to neighbor and how we have a town unlike many surrounding whose design un-neighbors themselves by acre and yellow lawn and noise ordinances at the ready instead of a knock, request and apology.

It's good to know the following story would never happen here.

The Tunnel

A man has been standing
in front of my house
for days. I peek at him
from the living room
window and at night,
unable to sleep,
I shine my flashlight
down on the lawn.
He is always there.

After a while
I open the front door
just a crack and order
him out of my yard.
He narrows his eyes
and moans. I slam
the door and dash back
to the kitchen, then up
to the bedroom, then down.

I weep like a schoolgirl
and make obscene gestures
through the window. I
write large suicide notes
and place them so he
can read them easily.
I destroy the living
room furniture to prove
I own nothing of value.
When he seems unmoved
I decide to dig a tunnel
to a neighboring yard.
I seal the basement off
from the upstairs with
a brick wall. I dig hard
and in no time the tunnel
is done. Leaving my pick
and shovel below,

I come out in front of a house
and stand there too tired to
move or even speak, hoping
someone will help me.
I feel I'm being watched
and sometimes I hear
a man's voice,
but nothing is done
and I have been waiting for days.

Mark Strand