An exhausted bike
Ambles up the street
Its tires hissing breathlessly
through the rain
The heated words
of a man on the phone
are close enough to touch
The slamming of doors
trigger hasty steps
on the wet cold of the street
Cool air parades in and out of the room
Touching curtains and my face
The clip-ity clop of a woman trots by
or is it a man with coconuts
hollowed out?
The mechanical sound of the drip
from the drains falling on the roof
like a great old clock
Awakens the ghosts for afternoon tea
Children ask questions out there
and seagulls scream in from the rough
to rest on roofs and gorge on fancy sandwiches and meat
Your presence makes it warm I can feel you in the house
You’re going to get our lunch
There are no horses out today
Cars drive about in distant traffic out there
And a siren’s wails reminds that
peace is momentary.