neighbour

the only sign of life
is the chimney smoke
blooming blue in a
curved line strung out like
the smoke from a little
chuffing train ...

I see him from time
to time, walking
back from the shop with
his plastic carrier bag
and newspaper tucked
under his arm

I speak to him
now and again
in summer, as he cuts
the steep bank of grass
and I pass
with a wheelbarrow
tool-laden:  unknown person
who lives
across the road

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