Spring sun, I sit in the yard surrounded by high walls
for privacy, alas, it is to hide my fear of people and
the boredom of ordinary, talkative life.
Nevertheless, my view is splendid the sky, and clouds
making faces of people I knew, sometimes into ugly
monsters with sagging flesh and a toothless grin-
cirrus cannot make visible teeth- a plane overhead
makes a pale jet-stream.
“Are you using sun-cream” a voice from the inside
hollers; spring sun is a friend it warms does not burn
the August sun does that.
A tank regiment of grey clouds hides the pleasant air
I feel the cold and scan the sky for drones, hide indoors
till I see, through a crack in the curtain, all-clear signals
time for a walk before lunch.