Do Tell . . . Nov. 6, 2025

three houses down, my neighbor Gary

sweeps his sidewalk each morning,

and vacuums the news that walks by,

that floats over fences or slips out the

cracks in windows

he’s the grapevine of feral cats, weather,

who’s selling, buying or remodeling,

dying cactus and the newly planted,

parked cars that don’t belong

and in whispers – the latest Alzheimer’s

victim, quarrels behind slammed doors,

police lights spinning at 1 a.m. at one house,

two wailing ambulances at another

his gossip only hints of the stories of

the shapes that move behind closed doors

for shadows that will never see the sun