On the Porch at 69 12/30

my neighbor hates my muse 
my lingering on the porch in her full view 
as I type out my truth with two finger 
rather than the pen and paper 
my usual haunts 
she slams her door like an accusation 
like "how dare you create
while I sit and collect dust 
and complain about your parking
while watching you all free on your porch
from my porch"

she screams at her dogs sometimes 
their insistent barking pleading
for walks 
or attention 
or walks 
forced to sit in their own shit 
and watch me peck out poems 
while she screams like she forgot 
that dogs bark when they want to walk 
or want attention 

she stares sometimes 
Like now (she's staring at me right now)
and I stare back 
talking to myself the whole time 
arms above my head sometimes
locs flying free most of the time
sun kissing my skin 
while she sneers and slams doors 
Like now
which only makes me want to scream
" so what"
a joke she is not privy too 
and wouldn't get  
wouldn't care too
she only wants my invisible 
and fuck that 
it's a great porch 
that lives in front of a house 
full of words 
of poets 
of muse 

she just slammed her door 
again 
it could be in fear of the boldness of my muse 
or because she doesn't have a muse to call her own 
to the tune of dogs barking 
who want attention 
or a walk