dog in a manger...

they let the pears rot under the tree. every year. sometimes we walk across the yard and eat them. but the lights are always on. it's a house full of insomniacs. they watch action movies all night. the volume is staggering. they keep a garden with leeks and onions and corn. some kind of squash. and pumpkins under the sunflowers. the pear tree stands beneath the streetlight. the boughs bow. there's that much fruit. a groaning board. year before last, the feral pigs came in droves through town. no fallen fruit wasted. and who will emerge in house slippers at 2 a.m. to chase them off when action is on t.v.? who? nobody who. but still i have to be careful. i'll get a broom upside the head. a stern talking to. a what the f*ck!?!? outta my yard!!! they call that "dog in a manger" i remember. it was my grandpa's favorite to say. and my grandma's favorite to cluck tongue at. that notion of having and not having and not wanting others to have what you're not...having.

what do i know. maybe they have. i'm not so ubiquitous. i've not an eye on every pear. no accounting. not inventoried. i'm not making a list and checking it twice. that's beyond me. but the ones that rot, oh me. how rotten.

still...i have two sewing machines and three bicycles and and and.