My Neighbor's Toilet

A Prediction

My neighbor’s toilet

is upended at the mouth of his driveway.

He thinks the town will pick it up

but I’ve read the rules.

They won’t.

I will harrumph his toilet into my dotage

porcelain cracked, misted by mold,

drunken dung-sailor given the old heave-ho.

I like my neighbor, but to reiterate,

I’ve read the rules. No plumbing fixtures.

Toilets are included under that definition.

(I looked it up.)

I would say something to him, but

we don’t have that kind of relationship. What we have

is me telling you, in writing,

while the toilet festers.

I picture vermin nesting in its filthy cavity,

orange Health Department citation sticker slapped to the rim,

me stewing, mute;

that’s the kind of neighbor I am:

eagle eyes, no talons.