From My Window

It’s a concrete slab, a walking band of pot smoking

people, using teenage love to stay warm, from here

to their cars.

it’s  a medal bench with a sobbing pony tail, and

parka wearing fat girls: too much make up and colour

on their eyes and boots: like sad clowns.

it’s the garbage truck at 5 a.m, banging it’s drums

as if revenge is to wake the Dreamers.

It’s the absence of green life, no recycling, no bushes,

no corporate agenda.

it’s the bars that frustrate those selfish few who’d like

to jump, or their friends that take possession instead of life

it’s the glass that keeps out the cool breeze but not the cold

It’s the view from our castle  on floor two.

(learn to take the stars.)