Observations

People are busy. Who should expect
anyone to care about one woman,
with air-conditioning, food in the refrigerator,

a family, a dog and two cats? The police
arrive and the dog starts yapping. An old
man walks to the brick house slowly; an officer

strides ahead. The minutes pass slowly
for the watcher who has nothing else to do.
The police leave, and the old man is nowhere

to be seen. The dog keeps yapping as two
young boys on their bikes decide the show
is over, and they head north, a bit let

down with the whole thing, their faces
still a bit bemused, and the woman takes
in the last draw of her cigarette and retreats

to the inside, where the faux air feels offensive
and stifling, where the dog lies sleeping
on the cool tiles, where she can pour

herself another drink and wait for the next
ripple to stir her, the nonsense to become
sensible, for the long afternoon shadows to give

way to the darkness she loathes and needs.