Red brick with close cut privet hedges
A dedicated seat with a view
Of the reconstructed wooden fence
Automobiles parked and turning
I sit and listen,I listen without learning
Conifers and pines before the chimney pots
A young neat figure with dimples
Dimples and acne spots
Yellow lines beside primrose gardens
I wait my turn, say beg your pardon
Trickled smiles with comfortable sandals
I open the door and unsteadily hold
Hold the curved bold handle
Strip off; undo your shirt if you will
Boy can I feel the pulse
Breathe deep now; don’t worry, it’s just a chill
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