Good Fences

Ralph’s been a good neighbor
Since the day we moved in
The week he retired
He’s kept an eye on our house
And, from what we can tell, just about everyone else’s.

Ralph likes everyone except his neighbors on the other side.
And their 30-some cats that turned everyone’s yard into a litter box.
So we weren’t their biggest fans, either.
When the cats caught rabies and started biting folks,
Ralph said that was just the tip of the iceberg.

Ralph’s a local,
He knows people around here.
And he makes sure you know he knows people.
Because knowing other locals is what locals do best.
He says he knows how to call in a favor.

It’s funny how right after animal control showed up at Ralph’s neighbors’,
So too did the building inspector, about that in-ground pool filled with Mosquito larvae they’d put in without a permit.
And the planning board, about the carport and 2nd driveway along Ralph’s property line.
And the humane society, about the barking dogs they never walk.
And the sheriff, about something Ralph says he’ll explain “after it blows over.”

A conservative’s conservative and former marine,
Ralph will talk your ear off about what’s wrong with this country today.
He loves to drop names of local business owners and city employees I’ve never heard of
And somehow works into every discourse a set of circumstances
Under which he would or would not kill a man.

Ralph comes out to chat over the fence when we’re in the yard,
Updating us on the number of potentially rabid cats they’ve trapped so far.
His cop buddy says it’s 27,
But Ralph casually mentions it’s more like 29.
He says he “took care of a few of them” himself.

Ralph goes hunting in Canada with his buddies, but not for deer or caribou.
Coyotes. Lured onto a frozen lake with roadkill
Picked off with a sniper rifle at 500 feet.
Ralph reminds me he was a marine,
And explains that once you’ve shot a man, you never get that out of your system. You've got to shoot something.

He’s always offering to loan me tools.
Whatever he thinks I need, Ralph’s got one, or has a buddy who does.
Ralph boasts he was an ace helicopter mechanic in the marines.
And tells me they had him guard Nixon once.
He says he “sure wouldn’t take a bullet for that Obama.”

Ralph talks embarrassing baby talk to my daughter. (Oh, yes he does!)
And insists on snowblowing our driveway for us, despite our insistence on shoveling.
He declares he likes to take care of his own,
And reminds me that, if need be, he’ll be ready to kill for us,
‘Cause he knows 22 ways to do it,
And we’re good people.


I ask him how many tours he did in combat.
Ralph just looks at me like I haven’t been listening for the last two years.
“I was never went to combat.” he tells me,
“I fixed helicopters during the war.”
“They kept me stateside.”