In the morning the girl ambles back
past the defunct red postbox. I
wave at her and begin to prune.
The hedge has growths of stings,
and a constant buzz converts
the air into a hive for my thoughts.
Without turning my head, I see
my neighbour, the girl who’s returned
in the morning on their porch.
Her father is a long shadow
on the floor board. They must have
their porch light on.
The Argument
The cat crosses the sky and the pane.
Now I no longer see the sparrows on the fence,
although it is their time for gossiping.
If change the room the window
of the next one will show a burning tire
rolling toward a barricade.
There is a loud shouting, but no sight
of the argumentative sides.
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Kushal Poddar
Picture Nick Victor
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