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Good Neighbors

By John I. Blair

The tall young man
From next door
Is mowing our grass again
For nothing, free, gratis.

Taking long strides
Across the lawn,
He pushes the loud machine
Easily back and forth.

Fifteen years ago, alone,
Convinced of monsters
In his darkened room
He ran to our house.

We calmed him,
Did not tell his parents,
His sister or his brother,
Never mentioned it.

Seeing me on the porch
He smiles, waves,
Keeps on mowing
I wave back.

2005 John I. Blair  

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