Always a Stranger

by Gene Auprey

Firsts buds to tout this early spring,
our honeysuckle hedge has leafed
in a lime-dot haze that obscures
the view of my neighbor looking
back at me. We could be cordial
now till fall with mailbox nod
or lawnmower wave, on weekends
maybe lift a beer while cooking
on the patio but nature is always
in-between. For three seasons
amity’s censure comes in green,
the fourth is white and too damn
cold to lollygag around the yard.
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