Plinky Prompt: Write a 10-line poem about your neighbor. Too good to pass up.
“We’re neighbors” is how the conversation starts.
“More like family, really” is what we silently say.
In the chip aisle, we are eye to eye
contemplating options, of the corn and marriage variety.
Sharing clothes, advice, food, hearts, minds.
Having moments of clarity
and moments of, “what the fuck am I doing here?”
and moments that are perfect, and will always, always be calm.
she is my LA good feeling, my summer wind, lightly falling across my heart.
and always, I will ask her for a cup of sugar (or coffee.) always.