People knock on my door. They’re concerned with my lawn.
By now, I’ve got a sign up that says, “Go To Hell!”
My yard needs not a manicure. This ain’t The Hills.
Folks are hard up. I get that. They need to pay bills.
But then so do I. That’s why I’m such a hard sell.
One would think that conclusion is clearly foregone.

So, am I a good neighbor? I keep my yard clean
Of debris that blows into it from other yards.
Yet folks keep their yards well-trimmed, then scrutinize mine.
When they think it needs cutting, their looks aren’t benign.
What looms ever more ominous a house of cards
Are the yards of the toxic industrial machine.

Such an animal belches and farts like a pig.
Many people in neighborhoods throughout the land
Act the same way with misguided taste for disdain.
I spend time making content. Others think they’ll gain
From the waste air-apparent from providers grand.
The unwanted neighbor is one who has grown big.