deepundergroundpoetry.com

Window S21. 5

 
I wonder if the time
for window fixing has closed,
frame twice removed,
toothed edges letting in air,
street noise, people knowing our names, happenings, much as a 65 pence newspaper
knows facts. You whistle
on the number 63.
I make two cups of tea,
hear about how well you are,
contemplate changing houses
rather than fixing windows,
probably should have done it
a long time ago.
Written by ImperfectedStone (The Gardener)
Published
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