Is there an end

Is there an end

Yet to be determined

Lounging on a veranda

Sheltered from the world

By a low wall

Hearing without seeing

A boy pestering his mum

For nothing, in particular,

She is such an easy target

The rumble of a deep-throated man

Trying to commandeer

The attention,

Stirs up trouble.

The boy begins to wail

But fails to drown out

The whoosh of wind through

The branches of the Plane trees

Heavy traffic pulls away

At the junction

Where the lights change

Silently.

Pedestrians cross

In a raucous staccato of noise

An auditory aid

Piercing the most delicate

Of membranes.

A citronella serpent burns,

Coiled smoke spirals

Drifting upward

Discomposing

The woman in the upstairs flat.

She has an allergy

But will never complain

Priding herself

On the title of “good neighbour.”

The incense

Might keep the flies away

But not the birds

They are a constant companion

Their conversation conducted

Above his head

Much as everything is

These days.

One day the lights will go down

But not today.

The sun is shining

The seat is sheltered

And nobody passing by

Can see him

Perhaps he has achieved

The Impossible

A cloak of invisibility

Without having to sell his soul.