Neighbours

Those kids will break that trampoline

or an arm; Margot’s roses are coming

along strong; the Fernandez are

rowing again—about what?; and Bob’s vintage

Mustang has had so many spare parts it’s

barely old but still he tinkers as she

kneels here naked in the window, aware

anyone could see her if they weren’t so

preoccupied, just looked up, as hands

tilt her hips just so and a

blunt tool expels the air from her lungs

in a fine mist on the windowpane

obscuring her from

prying eyes.

 

(Image used by kind permission of Holden-and-Camille.com to whom I am most grateful and you should go visit. The poem is my imagination and is not a reflection of their lifestyle)