NOR'WESTERS

The first summer evening
of the year. I sit where I can catch the breeze
with my cup of tea, watching
the tops of coconut trees, of telephone towers,
also leaves and masses of wire

blush,
make their apologies,
and see themselves out.

It is dark now, and the air fills with temple bells
pealing out in unison, breaking quarantine.
All is well with the world, just as all can be, should be. Hope!

Home and prison, prison and home, collapsing wave functions
now. But my mother! My mother! She is packing her bags,
readying her car. It will be
a long, nervous journey.

Only the housecat- darker yet than any night could match-
looks at me intently, with a cursed, sullen expression.
He has wanted to kill mine, for quite some time.
They have the same cat-lovers.

I don’t stir from my chair, and he stays put.
Gleaming in the dark now, his eyes
dare me to yell ‘SHOO!,’
to hurl a teacup and yell curses in his general direction,
to smash this world this world with its eternal laws
to pieces.

We man our designated corners
of the roof- like snipers, like friends.
Till the neighbours turn their lights on
and Poof! He is nowhere to be seen.
I am tired. It is time for me to walk back home.

I have not forgotten that philosophy is a ruse for masking inner torment.