From my window

clear glass window stoops over city's freeway

where cars and trucks rumble and sprint like ants

on brown veined leaves, underneath summer sky

whistles and tires drum the roads like bees gathering

honey before the butterfly net catches its golden tails,

scaring small black birds perched on the maple tree 

nearby the flock of geese amble between parked cars

like a solemn procession for the saints or the brown cross,

babies following the father robed in white and grey

above maze of roads, she comes to peek at my window, 

checking the traffic she says in her soft wistful voice,

but always craning to see her cottage, a dot in the blue lake 

her face is apple stained with divorce papers and struggles

of everyday cares, but her eyes twinkle in a merry dance,

stomach full of laughter,  as she thinks of retiring in 7 years

my eye catches the shade of the day,  bright cantaloupes, 

ripe mangoes sliced sweet and plump, framing office cube, 

bare of personal touches,  clearly a pit stop in my book of travels 

i don't see a white cottage by the lake, but the arms of sun

growing longer, brighter in orange twilight.   a thunderstorm 

is coming tonight but for now, i like the view from my chair   

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub:  Where in the World am I

and Poets United:   Labyrinth

picture credit:    here