Anthropologist Poem by Raj Dronamraju

I don't feel the need to know my neighbors
The grudging greetings exchanged every time we make eye contact in the morning going to work or coming home in the evening are what's required by hollow societal etiquette

The stooped old man who collects his mail
And washes the car in his underwear
And scares the kids with his weird demeanor
Should be recognized, classified, and kept at arm's length

I may be your neighbor
I am also a sort of amateur anthropologist
With no special training
With no special calling other than an abiding curiosity about people's behavior and development

So those that take out the trash and those that don't
Have a pack of screaming children spilling out on the road or stay indoors with windows and doors shut and locked in a chilly scene
Are watched impersonally

And this impersonal gaze is born of the streets of alienation
A tumble down hell that you wish was more gone than gone
Has led you into secret service with a notebook and a pencil

I made notes about their family gathering
There was noticeable tension between the mother in law and the daughter in law