The Nag

Your wall blocks breeze, but not hot drone
A long and constant dinning moan
Of insipid tongue slapping neighbors' drums
Day – Night – At – Dawn’s – Break
No Sunday rest for sanity’s sake

Harassment's harness grows son despondent,
While henpecked baby blubbers her bonnet
Resentful of time before tossing reins
At mothering rhetoric of badger and blame
If a horse, a shot fired whether sound or lame

Making glue sticky with bones and hide
Cementing banal lips of kindred kind
Who may ride up to that house outside
Echoing silent, except for timbers and paint
Reverberating yet from nag’s bellyache.