On one side of the window there’s me.
Jacket and tie,
pen in hand
behind my desk,
deleting commas and inserting brackets.
On the other side of the window there’s her.
Faded denim overalls,
squeegee in hand
abseiling from the roof,
scraping soap suds from the window.
It only lasts for a minute.
A flick of the wrist
and she slides out of sight,
leaving a few fingerprints on my side
and an otherwise uninterrupted view
of the crystal-blue sky.
This week’s poem was originally published earlier this year by the fine folks at Westerly. You can buy the issue here.
Come back next week for another poem. And to find out what I’m working on and where you can read my latest writings, sign up for Adam’s Occasional Poetry News.