Across the hall, roaring, bellowing <br />jaw snapping and feets trampling, <br />Mr. Jacobs is a caricature of restless rage <br />on into the night. <br /> <br />So loud, so near, <br />the anger a deluge beating <br />against the walls of my home, <br />dripping from the plaster <br />like corn syrup <br />in a B horror movie. <br /> <br />He is old now, but once he was young, <br />working construction <br />and in working order. <br />His arms were damaged by a rogue girder, <br />and never quite healed right, <br />always curled and risen from his sides. <br /> <br />He stamps, growling incoherent <br />at the television, <br />the volume turned all the way <br />so he can hear it over himself. <br /> <br />It's the Jeopardy theme, <br />and he's screaming with enough rage <br />that I'm sure the contestants can hear him - <br />- 'Tyrannosaurus Rex! What is a Tyrannosaurus Rex! ? ' <br /> <br />You are, Mr. Jacobs.<br /><br />John W. McEwers<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/my-neighbor-is-a-tyrannosaurus-rex/
