On a Sunday, in the early evening –
And I hear this couple,
raging on,
screaming their heads off.
And I’m over six foot
And I’m looking through hedgerows,
through blossoms –
Purples and pinks and orange.
And his hands are around her throat,
and her hands are in the air.
And it’s a hard slap,
and it’s sad.
And the orchid blooms incessantly,
while the pot plants
take in the soft, autumn warmth
and the children watch TV.