I'm not home

I'm not home

Quit pounding on my door

I'm not coming out.

I hope you bruise your knuckles on the oak.

This is a nice neighborhood

and you make too much noise.

I see you peering through my window,

checking your hair in the reflection.

Do you really leave the house like that?

My lights are on, my blinds are drawn

and the TV's blasting CNN from the den,

but I'm not home, I promise.

Admire my garden, but please,

don't touch the roses --

they cost more than your car.

I see that dinted Korean thing

skulking behind my Lexus.

I see the scuff marks on your shoes.

Your chinos came from Target

and your shirt is soaked with sweat.

Take that clipboard to some other street

I don't have time for your stammered pitch.

Now pull out your two-cent pen

and circle “not home”

before I turn the sprinklers on.