The Golden Riddle
At night through my open window, I can hear
the couple across the street as they argue.
Blind anger mixed with fear makes a brawl
no one will win. They don’t paint their house
or mow their grass. Their porch is filled with trash.
Angry words often steal into my yard
where our children play.
We all hope they’ll sell their house one day.
Yet one question burns relentlessly.
How am I supposed to love them
like I love me?
(Kay B. Day/A Poetry Break/Ocean Publishing)