We have a neighbor couple, Rogers and Kim that are moving back to Texas in early November. They apparently move frequently, flipping homes and cars for a profit. There is a going away party for them this weekend, and I’ve been asked to write a poem. I don’t know Rogers well, just quick humorous exchanges as we see each other while walking our dogs (Sydney and Tally), having lunch with the Borrego Boyz, or at a neighborhood party. He’s good natured, from Missouri and both he and his wife are great Pickle Ball players, actively involved in the leagues here in our Islandwalk addition. My first course of action was to make fun of his name and tie him in with other famous Rogers (first or last name). My initial reference is to Rogers Hornsby, the Hall-of-Fame baseball player as is the only other person that I’m aware has the first name of Rogers. I then couldn’t resist the Mister (Fred) Rogers connection and included his quote at the end of the poem – like a good neighbor should. Also, when I thought of cowboys, Roy Rogers came to mind with his wife Dale Evans and dog, Bullet, who was always rescuing Timmy from the well. 

One of my first encounters with Rogers involved a common neighbor, who was illegally feeding the Sand Cranes and drawing alligators to our properties. He reported them to both our HOA and Fish & Wildlife, but Stu and Jan thought it was us. They eventually moved out, but the new people, who are also now gone, were dumping some of their trash in his cannisters that he didn’t take kindly to, among other things. 

Rogers has a two-piece band called the Paradise Pickers that practice in his garage and play at local events, including our “Meet the Neighbors” get togethers, where Kim once made delicious biscuits and gravy to share. The two of them once joked that afternoon retirement “naps” sometimes could involve more than just resting. I naturally included my favorite roast line, used at least three times in my poems, “Don’t come a knocking” to poke fun at their new, Explorer Van that often sits in their driveway. They were also victims of Hurricane Ian, stuck here with a need for propane, so they borrowed from some of the snowbirds that were out of town for the storm.

One of the favorite stories in the neighborhood was about a gator that decided to rest on a covered front porch. One of the braver neighbors chased it off with a leaf blower, and Rogers dressed as Crocodile Dundee to get a laugh at a later party. He was then a treasured target for the charitable dunk tank and recently underwent prostrate surgery, claiming that he now “pees like a teenager,” another hard to resist line that just had to be included in this roast. 

These are just a few of the explanations for some of the lines in this poem, for most of you that are not familiar with our Borrego Street antics. These stories will be a lifelong bond for all of us that live here. If you don’t think they’re funny, well, you had to be here! 

Rogers Roast 

A ballplayer named Hornsby,

Was the only Rogers I knew.

Until I moved to Islandwalk,

And met the two of you.

 

Rogers is a common surname,

But rarely used first.

People are confused,

Somehow you were cursed.

 

There are guys named Roger,

But few with an extra “s”

Why they named you Rogers,

I didn’t want to guess.

 

So I did some research,

Checked out all the specs.

It’s German for “famous spearman,”

But also slang for sex.

 

In our Borrego neighborhood.

It’s always a beautiful day

Call him Rogers, Mister,

Not Mister Rogers, okay

 

Paradise Pickers is his band,

But he can be very picky.

Adding your trash to his,

Can get a little sticky.

 

You raid our homes for propane,

Dress up like Crocodile Dundee.

Violate the HOA rules,

And now boast about your Pee.

 

Plus, there were a lot,

Of neighbors who thunk.

That you just needed,

A good old-fashioned dunk. 

 

We’ll miss your Ozark charm,

And your music talents, too.

There’s no birds in our backyard,

Thanks for tattling on Jan and Stu.

 

It was once suggested,

That we all pull up a chair.

And cheer out on your driveway,

While you practice inside there.

 

So many cars and homes,

Yet to be flipped and found.

You’re really very lucky,

That Kim’s still around.

 

She’s the quieter of you two,

Except with paddle in hand.

Please bring me more biscuits,

Your gravy’s really grand.

 

If they had named you Roy, Rogers,

Then Kim would now be Dale.

Syd to the rescue like Bullet,

Your theme song: Happy Trails.

 

You’ll ride off in the sunset,

In your silver Explorer van.

Packed with Pickle ball trophies,

Farewell to that Florida tan.

 

You both admit to nooner “naps,”

So please don’t go a Knockin’

Especially when you notice,

That their van’s a Rockin’

 

“Neighbors are people who are close to us and close to our hearts.” – Mister Rogers 

You’ll both forever be our neighbor!

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