Too noisy, I say, but he cannot hear
Above the din of drill and saw

Again I try: Too noisy, neighbour,
as backhoe rips the ground to shreds

But he only stares, hands on hips
as his home reshapes before his eyes

I’m left to wonder: can he read lips?

Joan Skura writes from Toronto, Canada, where she lives with her husband, Ron, and their finicky feline, Lola.