Hilary Biehl

For a Neighbor 

It’s 8 pm and there’s that song again.
Always the same one, or it sounds the same
to me. I can distinguish the refrain
by how the walls respond. The slapdash frame
of the apartment building might collapse.
You wouldn’t mind; in fact the way your bones
test their own limits thrills you. And perhaps
it’s philosophical – the undertones
suggesting that we’re all just being taken
for a ride, that life essentially
consists of shaking others and being shaken
harder: rhythm without melody. 

Things Done and Left Undone

The sun is low,
the shadows tinged
with flies. Someone
has come unhinged;
across the lawn
we hear him shout
Then he comes out.
He’s swearing at
another man
who backs away
towards a sedan.
The first man hits
the second. We
are silent. From
a balcony
one woman yells,
then disappears.
Our game has stopped.
The courtyard clears.
“Let’s go,” a boy
softly insists.
We leave the man
to his friend’s fists,
to hot cement
and creeping dark.
A tiny dog
begins to bark.

Hilary Biehl’s poems have appeared in various journals including Able Muse, The Orchards, and Better Than Starbucks.