she says, drawing a line with her lipstick
on the stationary car, smirking in the wing mirror
and eyeing the approaching clouds with trepidation
bordering on the kind of excitement she felt
discovering the pair of old cinema seats only
ten pounds each she bought for the greenhouse,
that faded all through the summer like old curtains
not made for sunlight.
Sometimes it's necessary to close the shutters
and pour a cool drink down the throat of the afternoon
that started so imaginatively, in a deprived
kind of way, unanticipated in spite of the white bird
ominously ascending into the clear sky overlooking
the harbour, boats bobbing below as boats bob
in memory, and such heat bearing down
almost too much to bear.