Anxious Neighbors

My cedar house is hard enough to see
on sunny days, much less in snowy times.
It blends in with the beech and holly trees-
a doormat for rock maples, rug for pines,
and railing for azaleas bearing weight.

A nouveau French château exchanges sneers
with Adams mansions, vast Italianate
faux villas, and a pod of bloated peers:

That house has furnishings for every room
but only one garage. There's smoke around
the chimney flue and, worse, an old corn broom
in open view. When will they tear it down?

The scornful parvenus await the day
they find my low-born roofline razed away.