MY HIGH WINDOW

Sprawling,

Sunken into a satin cushion

One barefoot heel propped up on the ottoman

The other rubbing on the carpet

I sip my coffee.

Forenoon light shines through a high window.

June’s cotton snow drifts by.

Squirrel traffic jams a roadmap of branches

High up on the trees

Amusing me.

Life is good through a high window.

I need a high window to spare me from things,

Things I don’t want to see below.

Dirty kids, barefoot heels callused, stained, bruised.

Glinting Glocks, corpses in ditches,

Slumped forms sprawling in doorways,

Scared girls.

Ripped cotton jeans.

Illicit traffic jamming alleys.

The muffled noise is enough.

I don’t need to see

Things that sadden me.

Warm up my coffee.  Please.

Life is good through a high window.