Poetry

The shadows of the afternoon are drawing long lines,
against the hillock there are specs of red aloes
while the afternoon lingers, the sun descends,
and a neighbour takes his first sip of wine;
old ladies chatter softly at their back doors,
a woman peeps to the street through some curtains
and on the hot roof of a big old house
some cats are baking in the sun.
When another neighbour unpacks his briefcase
I do wonder if you are coming to visit,
while the dog snarls at the passing postman on his bicycle
and at twilight it’s still a great maybe,
while I am growing hunger
and am wondering if our relationship will last?