My Neighbor Hung Herself

IMG_2646 - Version 2

My Neighbor Hung Herself
August 6, 2014

Four weeks ago, my young neighbor
hung herself, at home, literally
across the street. Yesterday,

I saw her live-in boyfriend—
an old, balding man my age—walk her
back into the house. I guess

some things just don’t work out.
She was never “stable,” whatever
that means in suburban terms—

her two blonde-haired daughters,
10 and 5, always wandering the streets
alone, one dressed like a hooker,

the other an innocent waif,
a toddling spirit clinging to the curb
and her sister, tagging along

for the ride over what rapids I can’t
imagine or know. It’s hard not
to judge, even though a handful

of pills keeps me sane everyday,
makes me able to sit still, takes
the edge off marriage, bankruptcy,

bills, and kids. So, there’s that—
the medicinal tether, the earthly bond,
the last shreds of decency that stay

me from the end of my rope.

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2 thoughts on “My Neighbor Hung Herself

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