your neighbor rubbernecks
all the time, staring at accidents and
dreary folksingers in coffee houses.

you know this because
you watch the same things.
neither of you ever talks about them.

curiosity makes some cats thrive.
you see him looking at you looking back at him
and it makes you both feel good:

a voyeur as seen by another voyeur
always looks as alive and healthy
as a shark in a deep sea tank.

one night you stay up late to stare in his window
and catch him with his hands around his own neck,
twisting himself like a balloon animal.

perhaps he’s exercising? no —
he does not stop
until his head snaps free.

it bounces out the window and lands at your feet.
“don’t pick me up,” he mouths at you,
eyes wide and pleading,

but you do,
so now you’re stuck
with each other.

it was more comfortable before
when all you both had was a view
of disasters. now, it’s personal.

the only taboo you both had believed in
was the one that said
to never be touched by what you saw,

and now it’s obvious
that you’ll be carrying him around
for a long long time.

the greatest horror of this great horror
is that you suspect that everyone
is watching.