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  • A short
    and quick gaze
    only mere inches above
    a grapewood stake fence
    to the new building next door,
    four stories high and all condos,
    where I watch
    the descent of heaven
    in a body from hell,
    my eyes lock
    onto the overly sexy
    busty blonde Australian gal
    who once again returns home
    in her yellow sportscar,
    wearing another skin-tight yellow outfit,
    her yellow heels scraping seductively
    along the damp pavement
    as if keeping rhythm to a song
    outside my bedroom window.
    .
    the
    woman
    likes yellow--always yellow!
    .
    and
    always hot
    and on schedule,
    and soon draws open her drapes
    along her second floor windows
    and
    then looks down at me
    with a contemptuous smile
    while firing up her audio system
    blasting popular music
    past my compulsive stare
    and casting
    her shapely fem aerobic silhouette
    from down under
    all over her picture window
    for close to an hour.
    of course I stand there watching,
    unable to move and drooling like a dog
    while cracking my knuckles
    in between rubbing my eyes
    and feeling strong pulse beats
    in appropriate places
    until
    I can't stand her
    or myself
    and longer.
    .
    across
    the street
    choked by parked cars
    from tenants on both sides,
    I see the two gay men
    working hard at taking their 50s well
    by taking out elaborate plans
    at throwing a small and intimate dinner party
    on their recently redecorated patio,
    serving imported salads to their guests
    and making sure everybody knows every ingredient
    of the vegetarian art,
    secrets of salad dressings,
    secrets to a good life
    interspersed and broken
    by relentless laughter.
    secrets and great significance
    revealed and then ultimately betrayed,
    except
    for how much money is made
    between them
    .
    and
    the net worth
    of their trouble.
    .
    while
    over in the opposite direction,
    past my broken driveway
    where all species of weeds
    and dandelions survive untamed
    and
    spin not and ignore
    the current mortgage and finance phenomena
    .
    I see
    the small
    and very quiet guy
    sneaking home successfully once again
    at being unseen by most,
    his tiny arms full of fresh white
    folded robes and turbans from the laundry
    and enters his unlocked door.
    in less than a minute,
    I can hear him slowly droning out
    a lonely mantra,
    as eerie a sound as I've ever heard,
    like a dying man
    trapped in eternity without hope,
    without a rope out,
    but
    no doubt
    not without a credit card.
    .
    farther
    down the street,
    in front of an old stucco house,
    a young girl--16 if a day,
    proudly moves about
    showing off her tattoos
    recently penned
    by her 19 year old boyfriend,
    just a kid himself really
    who's already served some real time.
    she shares some beer
    with a couple of biker friends
    who are polishing the many chrome parts
    of their engines until glowing
    and
    steals their attention
    by pulling up her t-shirt,
    exposing her succulent teenage breasts,
    and further revealing a large bleeding cross
    in red and blue ink
    along with names and statements
    written in script
    on both her arms.
    .
    and
    to think
    it's not even
    Spring break yet.
    .
    in
    the middle
    of the narrow street,
    two cats hiss and howl,
    then hump and scream
    in between a suicide of blind traffic.
    a heavy metal band
    soon crashes the calmness of the coming night
    by loudly tuning up
    before beginning their usual practice
    in an old garage
    somewhere behind me
    .
    while
    I turn off the tv
    and
    decide instead
    to watch Fantasy Island
    for the rest of the evening.
    .
    .
    ©2016 Miles Ciletti
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