Poems from
Scenes & Visions
by Michael Cope

Poetry

Rain
GHAAP
Scenes & Visions
Some Examples of
       Silence
for the time being
Crossing the Desert
back view
Other Poems
Song Lyrics
A Virtual Anthology
YouTube Poems
Cautionary Verses


@ Contact
©  Copyright

The man flicks off the switch

The man flicks off the switch and stands
in the darkness of the room
till he can dimly start to see
the outlines of the furniture.

He sees the bed a rhomboid blur,
the table a shape with other shapes
on it: books, a razor, things
he sees because he knows they're there.

He goes to the window and quietly lifts
the curtain's hem. His breath steams up
and he wipes the misted pane
with the soft edge of his palm.

Diffused light from the streetlamp finds
its way into the narrow lane
between the houses, where it lights
a low brick wall with peeling paint.

Weeds grow in the cracked cement.
He can see a few big leaves
of the hunchbacked fig that grows
in the darkness on the right.

For a few seconds his eyes dwell on
the lane and the things in the lane.
He shifts the cloth a little more.
The woman's bedroom is still lit.

The yellowed light from her window forms
a brighter patch on the top of the wall.
Inside her lace-curtained room
she stands at a mirror and brushes her hair.

He blinks his eyes and tilts his neck
and then he wipes the pane again.
Her hair is long and curly brown
and she brushes slowly with strong strokes,

tugging at the tangled parts.
She wears a pale cream dressing-gown
that gleams in the light that comes
from a bedside reading lamp.

Then she turns and looks right at
the place where he looks out at her.
He drops the curtain, holds his breath
stands still and tense, reminds himself

that she sees nothing through the lace.
There is adrenalin in his
heartbeat as he looks again,
peeping out with just one eye.

She sets the hairbrush down
on the windowsill among
her clutter of cosmetic things,
a blue vase and some bric-a-brac.

And then she turns, the garment moves,
the pale kimono slides apart.
He stands on tiptoe, cranes his neck,
rubs quickly at the windowpane.

She turns again, her back to him,
returning to the mirror where
her hands do something at her face
and then she sits down on the bed.

The air inside the night is cool.
Quickly she undoes the gown,
throws it over a chair and gets
into bed, where he can't see.

If he saw colours of pale skin,
they were blurred by her movement
and his breath on the window-pane.
All that he perceives of her

is the mound the bedspread makes
draped on her feet. It moves a bit.
After a while the light goes out.
A leaf scratches against the wall.