Figure skaters make good neighbors
into bad ones. The men who used
to mind their own beeswax now come
winter gawk across the backyard
fence to watch the young girl next door
trace the shape of the number eight
on the surface of the jury-
rigged ice rink her father made by
letting the hose cover the lawn
and leaving it freeze overnight.
They regard her through their windows
from the breakfast table; they spy
her when they pull into the drive.
They dream she invites them skating
and by god they feel more alive.
What is the sum of 8 and 11:
It's your turn! Move into the poem. Renovate it. Knock down its walls. Put your spin on it. Make it your own.