Just Next Door
They lived next door,
handsome young men,
tough, hard, cool.
You heard them coming
by the clatter clack of
skateboards,
the crack bang of the door,
the chorus of reverberating walls.
They lived next door,
motherless boys.
Dad worked late—bartending.
Dinner was disposable,
the contents of cardboard containers and styrofoam cups.
School was a sometimes thing.
They lived next door
smoking, drinking.
Dad did too and often.
But the girls were too much,
the oft subject of midnight
tongue lashings
that were no deterrent.
The girls came early and stayed late.
They lived next door.
The cops came often.
The landlords wrung their hands,
vainly threatening eviction.
But Tuesday was
the unreal parade:
teens, toughs, yuppies,
all anxious to do business.
They lived next door,
dealing their dope.
Everyone knew it,
but no one would act.
Not the police,
not the school nor the landlords.
But then there was Destin,
caring, sensitive, intelligent.
Struggling to juggle
laundry baskets,
he assisted.
We walked and talked
of plans for college
of hopes for a career in
commercial art.
If only he could stay clean,
avoid the lure
just next door.
But they were his friends.
Mom had fled to escape the pain.
Dad only provided bed and board.
Who would he lean on?
Who would give comfort,
encouragement, strength
to deny seduction?
After all, I was only the neighbour
who lived for such a short time
just next door.
Rebecca Stewart copyright 1996
Thinking back on the past two decades I feel the frustration of a world that is becoming increasingly fractious. A world where a stable two parent family is an anomaly, and children are 'resilient' and expected to cope when their world falls apart and their parents separate.
Our society offers so many distractions, and pleasures but no real substance. And those things of true worth — our relationships are transitory and superficial. It is a heartbreaking world for those who lack solid foundations and a vision of hope for the future.
The rod and reproof give wisdom,
but a child left to himself brings his mother to shame.
Where there is no vision, the people perish;
but happy is he who keeps the teaching.
Proverbs 29