The Other Side Of The Street Poem by John F. McCullagh

All though my married days I've lived
on the West side of the street.
I have dealt with plows in winter
that buried me knee deep
The West sides' winter sun is scarce
too weak to melt the ice.
So you'll see me out there chipping away
(Miami would be nice)
They get their trash collected first,
while we must wait a day.
I think the mailman likes them too,
He always starts their way.
In Spring their lawns are greener
In summer they have shade.
My back porch boils each afternoon-
no wonder I'm dismayed.
Mayhap I would be famous for
these poems that I excrete
If only I'd had the wit to live on
the other side of the street.