To my neighbor who sneezes
There’s a man who sneezes
somewhere
outside my apartment
at least once a week,
and sometimes,
if I’m lucky,
he’ll manage multiple eruptions back to back,
in a kind of syncopated symphony.
The sneeze itself is unmistakable
in character, delivery, and sound —
quite quintessential really,
as if he were trained in some
respiratory academy,
a conservatory for the precocious nose.
If I were a film producer,
and had scripted a dramatically emphatic
wah-choo!
I don’t think any other actor
but this nameless neighbor would do.
There have been times when I swear
he sternutated on cue.
I’d be hosting some friend and
would mention I hadn't heard from the
Sneezer in some time.
Seconds later, and
the echoes of his reverberant reflex
would delight me anew.
I’ve become deeply fond
of the persistent peal,
the reminder that my nostrils are not alone
in my building on the hill,
that there’s a fellow out there
exuberantly expelling the same dust in the air.
So to my neighbor who sneezes,
bless you.