14th March 2026

 

supermarket checkout

a man drops his blueberries

treads them flat

© Rachel Green March 2026

Neighbours

Mick's wife died the year we moved in;

now his son is middle aged

and his chihuahua stumbles

peeing on the council sycamore.

We watched Jean's kids grow up

and have kids of their own

now Stu needs constant care

and the visits are fewer than before.

In a quarter of a century

we've never spoken to the people next to Jean

except the one time when we out to protect the wife

against a drunk and abusive husband.

Next to them a couple we've known forever,

convinced there is a portrait in the attic,

for the wife never seems to age

while the kids have grown up and moved out.

We call her Doria, after Wilde's masterpiece

and she laughs, taking it as the compliment

it is intended to be.

Evelyn's house was abandoned:

We're not sure if she died

or went into a care home:

she never spoke to us except to complain the drains were blocked

when it was always her who blocked them.

The daughter sold the house

and now it's being renovated and extended

to double its original size.

Dean and Bella had a handful of daschunds

and chickens at the bottom of the garden

which attracted foxes

and rats.

Their kids have grown into adults

and we still get Christmas cards.

The house between us

is part council - part housing association

who are tardy with repairs

but the tenants are lovely:

always a friendly hello

and a long, slow drag of her morning ciggie.

The people on the other side

played Elvis all day long at full volume

until the lady died

and the husband spent all his days

sunbathing in the garden.

He told us we'd been lovely neighbours

when they moved him to a flat

where he didn't know anyone.

Now it has a young family

who we paid to mend our water pipe

when it flooded their garden.

Their lad plays football in the garden

in smokes pot behind the fence,

while his sister goes clubbing

until the early hours.

© Rachel Green March 2026