Eastman

Eastman
by Pat A Physics

My peace pipe froze on the way up the hill. The apprehension is
plain and the ponies are stultified. Acting with new purpose,
I rub my hands together and blow heat against them, but
what do I know about you and your housefolk. Parties on
weekends that are low key, hairstyles that betray signs of age,
you guys use your fireplace still, agrarian efforts, and lots of mail.
Inside the house it’s so quiet, you can hear the flushing of toilets,
the banging of pots and pans, maybe even snoring. No music.
I knock on the door and you say, “No music.” At least, that is
what I thought I heard. Maybe you said, “One minute.” Yeah.
“Hello, I’m selling magazine subscriptions on behalf of the Com
-munity Colleges. Would you subscribe to three of these
magazines and aid me in my quest for knowledge?” Here I am.
Naked in your porch light. Your bespectacled eyes looking.
A judgment is passed. The results are in. We are neighbors.