A/N: Dedicated to David.

Next-Door Neighbor

They all thought I was joking

when I ran into class on April first

and told them I knew the dead boy,

just like the wind was joking

when it drifted in from the South

and tapped him on the shoulder,

nudging him towards

the cold beach, telling him today

was a perfect day to go sailing.

In reality, I remember nothing else

about him than what I'm told I

should be remembering:

he lived in that big blue house

on the other side of our woods,

he liked to ride his bike down

the steep hills of Faith Road,

he always ended up wandering

into our backyard somehow, and

clutching his buzzing walkie-talkie,

he always apologized to my mother.

Yesterday, I found an unmarked tape

on top of the family room cabinet,

and pushed it into the VCR

and I see myself playing catch with a boy,

some gangly red-haired stranger

with glasses, and a smile that shows

all his crooked teeth to the camera.

David, I can't cry for you, not

when you only exist on TV screens.