My Neighbour Air-Dries Magazines!

Today my brain is totally frazzled! I am working on the last little parts of the submission for my EMA (end of module assessment) and oh, how I need not to be looking at a screen or paper or.... anything written.

However, looking outside my window, trying to retrain my eyes to the real world I am struck by a poem hanging in front of me so bang goes my attempts to focus (pun intended) my eyes and brain.

Yes, my neighbour really is drying magazines!

The Garden of my Neighbour

The wall between us

is chest height.

It ends at heart level.

Over the wall 

is a mystery,

strange and unexplained.

There, rampant weeds 

nod familiarities 

from untended borders.

Before she was widowed

her washing danced adagios

with her husbands. 

Now she hangs beige 

items that refuse to move

they are so independent.

She keeps flighty socks

constrained with tear damped

magazines to distract them.