Neighbors Are Spies Poem by Melanie Emikohe

A crowd of four wives,
plump and forty to fifty
bare thick, rickety lips
own that side of the store.

Those investigative eyes
chase my steps passing;
I could almost see them
gawking from my behind.

No, I'm not a lip reader
but my instincts are sharp;
But when I dare to stare,
they withdraw and hush.

Still there when I return,
when kitchens are hectic,
smells of smoky, beef stew.
But how they love the dark.