Promptly Poetry

Waving to a Neighbour

Waving to a Neighbour

That’s old Whatsisname, I think,
yes, must be, he’s at the right door.
But what? Is that a wave? Can’t be,
he’s as Coventry as me, never
in twenty years has he waved at me
and I, even longer I should think.
A damn smile as well, what’s his case?
Must be for someone else, yes,
there’ll be Mrs Grainger standing
at her inevitable window and waving,
unaware that we don’t do that here.
But now I’m not so sure, the angle’s wrong
and that tree behind me is in the way.
It has to be me, there’s no escape,
can’t even pretend to have missed it -
there was a moment our eyes met,
he knows that I know, I’m sure of it,
and now I have to respond somehow.
Bugger, this is awkward, why’d the old fool
go do a thing like that? It’s not right
to force a feller to make a spectacle
of himself, to give a cheery wave,
or even say hello. No, that’s too much,
I’ll give a wave disguised as salute,
can always say an involuntary twitch
caught me at the very moment,
here we go, I lift my arm, the hand
not waving, more on guard,
but too late, he turned away,
missed my signal, thinks I shunned
his unexpected greeting.
Always the way, these unwanted gestures,
best you mind your business
and I’ll mind mine.


Line Count: 34
For Promptly Poetry Challenge, 6/8/20
Free Verse
Notes: The city of my birth, Coventry, is well known in England as being the most unfriendly place on earth. The truth is that we’re excruciatingly shy and have developed an unspoken agreement to ignore each other as much as possible as a result. On holiday in Norfolk, I once pulled into a service station and a young lass appeared and started to fill my car’s tank. I nearly fell over with shock when she started to tell me all about her troubles with a boyfriend as though I were a long lost friend. People just don’t realise what delicate creatures Coventry folk are.