Bringing Mae Flowers

I don’t even know your name,
But I know you own two cars:
You drive one every day,
But the other you never use.

I know you have two children,
A boy around 9 and a girl around 5.
They are both in school,
And they both have brown eyes.

I know you used to have a garden.
The dug-up patch can still be seen.
It sits untouched behind the sprinkler,
In the shadow of the poplar tree.

I know when you work out,
And what you listen to.
Maybe I should have said it before,
But I listen to it too.

I know your apartment looks just like mine,
A mirror image, side by side.
I wonder if you hung pictures on your wall,
Or if you kept them white.

I don’t even know your name,
Because we never speak.
Yet, I know all these things about you.
And I wonder what you know about me.