Auckland Poetry

Inquisitive Neighbour

The couple, who have moved into the yellow house by the river
that has been running dry for the last two year, are not young,
late middle age if you ask me, which you will not do as you
don’t know me, because I’m the man, hidden behind a great oak
at the edge of the forest, that is big as I have been relieving myself
up against it for over twenty years, but if they are married they
have not been so very long as the keep kissing and cuddling a lot when painting the house inside, I only know this because they have
no curtains yet. She, a widow and he a widower who met at
a dance (I’m guessing here) for lonely people, their love was met
with disapproval by their adult children who tend to think they
know what is best for their parents, so they left snow, frost and cold hearts, came to the Algarve. Yet they are prisoners of their past, in time their children will come, there will problem their offspring will be waiting for signs of weakness, forgetfulness a slurring of words any excuse to send them to an old folks home. But as for now they
are blissfully happy, but I do wish they will buy curtains, or paint the house’s façade ochre.