david allen evans | neighbors

1 03 2010

Poetry Dispatch No. 315 | March 1, 2010


by David Allen Evans

They live alone

she with her wide hind
and bird face,
he with his hung belly
and crewcut.

They never talk
but keep busy.

Today they are
washing windows
(each window together)
she on the inside
he on the outside.
He squirts Windex
at her face:
she squirts Windex
at his face.

Now they are waving
to each other
with rags,

not smiling.

[from HEARTLAND II, Poets of the Midwest, 1975]



3 responses

1 03 2010
Steve Fortney

yep. been there.

just celebrated our 50th anniversary. all kids here. happy time. minda claims we have a norman rockwell family. maybe so.

but behind are depths……

2 03 2010
Jean Casey

DESperately sorry about this pair! They ought to call in a window washing service. Such mute angst over foggy windows!

2 03 2010

Hey, just because this husband and wife aren’t smirking at each other through the glass, we assume they’re Punch and Judy! Maybe in their own minds they’re Antony and Cleopatra, and caressing the glass is a forerunner to caressing each other. I hope so.

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