I Stood at the Window
The end of the sofa was flattened from my weight
As I leant on the sill, blew smoke into air
And watched the cloud thin to nothing.
Below they passed, with hands in pockets and faces
Looking forward to a street with a postbox,
A sign cracked with time, a stained white pub
Where they gathered in the doorway, and sat upon the step.
I saw roof tiles slick with damp as evening came
And softened the ending of day.
Footsteps slowed, streetlights shone,
Trees became a shadow, one long shadow
Silhouetting itself against the stamp of night.
The cushion knew the mould, the dip of my toes
As I leant on the sill, stood at the window,
And in the turning of hours from morning through dusk
Watched the smoke clouds thin to nothing.