They own
A newly painted house,
A carefully cultivated herb garden,
A meticulously cut lawn.

I rent
A house that needs painting
With no garden.
I keep meaning to mow the lawn.

When I finally haul out the push mower
We do not exchange greetings over the fence
Or discuss the recent change in the weather.
Nor do I borrow a cup of sugar.

They kneel side by side,
Pulling weeds in silence.
I let the blades spin,
And breathe deeply.

A whiff of mint,
The scent of scallions,
And perhaps a hint of dill.
The herbs drift. They are on my side.