Courtyard Night
for Ilka Scobie
I can’t bear to remember
What I’m unable to forget.
The hem of the green
Curtain lifted, just enough
To show between the legs
Of the room.
The bed undone, rumpled,
Stained with lamp light.
Day peers in, leers, waits.
Then, night
Like a beat cop chases
The perv off. And by
an adjusting hand, the curtain
drops, the hand vanishes inside and
Her moans fill the courtyard.
My dog and I in our own lonely
Dark, lie awake, listening, Miles Davis
On, his piercing horn, and from
The window across the way
The woman’s
Wet piercing cries.
I have sometimes seen her
Leave the building. She
has clever eyes. I can imagine
Her face, tortured by pleasure.
I can imagine what he is doing,
And close, and close,
And close
Myself
Off.