The Girl Next Door

A poem
by Chris Hibbard
(written for my neighbour Nicki, who can’t seem to stay out of trouble)

The Girl Next Door

The Girl Next Door

She comes home at odd hours
I thought mine were odd but hers are surreal
My one is her three, my four is her nine
Yet here I sit, waiting for whichever comes first –
The sun, the sleep, or the girl next door

She makes me avert my eyes
So she won’t catch me staring
Not at her legs, which don’t seem to stop
or her eyes, which have power
but at the nervous little habits of the girl next door

She’s not supposed to be inspiring
and I’m not supposed to be sitting here waiting up
I tend to deny it, but that’s what I’m doing
and this poem just kills the time
filling in my headspace until the girl next door

She’s from a small town
She’s a small town girl
That’s intriguing in strange ways
Like fishing and fire-building
Drinking games and the girl next door

She could come home at any moment
Or at no time at all
So what time is the right time?
How late in the night time?
What rhyme is the right rhyme?
How many more night lines?
Waiting on the girl next door

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~ by Chris Hibbard on July 27, 2010.

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