Through the window

The Leyland cypress are my cover. I hear they have a short life span. What will I do if they fail and decay, die, and then fail me?

When the moon is bright, I do not dare go out and watch them. Things can be seen under the moonlight, like naked lovers on the beach and the crabs searching for a return to safety like me when I pull up my comforter and adjust my pillow until it is just right helping me to avoid my chant. "Sleep. Tired. Sleep. Tired…."

What is it I desire to see in the house behind me? Sex? No. I can get that porno style and no one is the wiser other than if I decide to murder someone or commit a lesser crime and the powers at be decide it is in their best interest to do their thing and search my internet history. Unlikely.

No. I am not a criminal. Or am I? Because I have heard them and seen them without their knowledge. The foreigners that live behind me observed at all hours of the day and night. Foreign because I do not understand a family that says, "What do you think love?" In a tone that expresses such kindness and patience that….can it be? Is it even possible?

It is a cloudy night, safe for me to peep, and I watch them pass the popcorn and laugh through their window. Maybe when I go back inside I can figure out what they were watching on TV. Maybe not. Does it matter?