passing

passing

you boarded up the top windows first, on the inside

i thought it was a weed grow

but val at number 14 whispered behind her hand –

he never recovered, you know…wife ran off with the man before the couple in your house

3am, i hear you playing guitar, if i mute police interceptors

 

boarding up the second floor, did seem odder,

but we still swapped the time of day then,

smoked over the low wall, talking plants and bins and flooding

you were always private, always friendly

and I didn’t ask about the windows,

always enjoyed the guitar, lilting from my fireplace

 

the ambulance was a thursday,

i was with a client, zoom tears distant as i lost concentration,

then a week passed, I put your bin out, brought it in,

val at number 14 talked about wine and caravanning – in that order

my other neighbour knows,

i took a Christmas card round, swapped it for a mince pie and small-talk,

your husband, not one for talking – small or otherwise

at least smiled, elbow deep in pastry,

then you told me quietly; clearly

 

there’s been no guitar for three weeks

i’d done you a card, but I don’t think

you’ll open it now,

I miss the guitar

 

your car looks dirty all of a sudden, yesterday

a woman in my garden with a parcel,

it wasn’t coffee beans,

friendly though, the Macmillan nurse

the bed came the same day,

just in time for night

 

last night, I heard sobbing

thought it was your lady friend;

it was both of you

 

we know each other

only through sounds,

your pipes, my coffee grinder

my singing, your cough;

our shared hearth rattle

 

I don’t know you

well enough

to say goodbye

 

i miss

your

guitar