On a Sunday, in the early evening, and I can hear this couple screaming endlessly in raged abuse. And I’m looking at them through the hedgerow, through blossoms in shades of purple and pink and blue. And his hands are around her throat, and her hands are in the air, and it’s a hard, hopeless slap. And on the patio, the orchid blooms incessantly, and the pot plants take in the gentle Autumn warmth, while the children watch TV.

a dire tragedy,
no safety net on the pool,
resentment begins.