Windows

You can’t see her from the train

Amongst the windows in her isolation

The staring black, like shark-eyes during the day

Spying ever-intently, still, patient for its pray

By night the local neon throws the blood-red cross through her vision

Teasing, mocking her, turning up the pain

Her room is without the view

Her portrait, her landscape

The extract from the Tandoori is her only guest

Constant spice to fill her spaces

An Asian princess with her dashing colonel!

Behind every window that you can see

How many lost eyes are staring right through you

The frosted-glass vision; just tears twisting the scenes

The dirt from the traffic, a shield against bad dreams.

March 2006