I feel a crust form
over my eyes,
too afraid
of blinking.
I cannot miss
the chance to see
the time lapse
of broken families,
or even worse,
happy families.
The stories I make up
as I watch the moving
of their mouths
cannot be far from true.
The neighbors to the left,
man beats his wife
generally around supper time.
You'd think she'd
just cook a little earlier
and avoid it all.
They tend to have a pity fuck
right there in the kitchen.
Across the street,
aunt and uncle raising
niece and nephew,
their father
is in jail and their
mother is on the way.
To the right,
old woman recently widowed.
Her husband had a gorgeous
garden that he would tend
every day of the year.
She sold his boat.
She threw out all the junk
in the garage.
She lets the dog inside
at night.
But she keeps that garden
just as he did.
So I sit here at the window,
tears begging
to quench my eyes,
and wonder what their
story for me could be.



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