It is the beginning of July again
and those curtains will remain drawn
for the entire 31 days.
The milk and newspapers
get cancelled for four weeks or so.
No one knows what goes on in there?
The energy in the street
is different when you walk by…
I’ve seen sensitive folk
shudder and cross themselves.
You can hear ‘Her’
as it nears the 13th of the month…
a low, heavy sobbing
emanating through the walls,
there’s just no fixing grief
nor medicating a desolate soul.
Come the start of August
she emerges timidly,
dishevelled and aged cruelly,
with faint traces of an inner battle
slowly receding from weary, worn-out face.
She limps and half-shuffles
over to the Public Park…
where she polishes and cleans
the little wooden bench dedicated to ‘Him’
with a love, care and affection
which would bring a tear to your eye.
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