Neighbourhood

Three Buildings

That scowl and crow feet

And that Cowboy stare

Which meets its object

Somewhere in mid-air

Is Nordic.

And you come unasked

Unlike him thru' pain-

Utterly unmasked

In a sense to complain

Of nuts!

Now descend some steps.

The Italian door

You'd do well perhaps

Simply to ignore;

You're not welcome.

Then we walk past light

To the door shut tight

At the extreme right

Where always the night

Will morning greet

Without sun.

On the lower floor,

The mystery sis,

Below the blue door,

On a posted kiss

Lives from her son

Her neighbours transfer

Every month or two,

But surely after

Some hullabaloo

With lovers.

And in the dungeon

The young Russian

Peels off memories

And other debris

From his mind

Then the new couple:

He looks like a bun

And she, an apple,

Both hopple-topple

To computer dens.

***

Second Phase 

Linking corridor
Consumes the breeze
Wafting to and fro
Leaving dust to rise 
From heated floor

Then O! The queen
Of France but if France
Had ever a queen
who at first glace
Was a Rhombus
On stilts

The quiet bash
Of Piet's addictions
Are confessed in Trash
Yet all his actions
Are laudably quiet.

Then comes the horror!
Scandal embodied,
A frame of rumour 
And shallow, studied
Ambition on feet.

Cristine is pristine
Sedate and quiet
But Hey! she has been
In a sordid riot
 Paying for her loft
In three continents!

I can hear her fart
In my idle hours
Her loose membranes part
 In her quiet bowers
Disturbing my calm.

Now! Meet the luck-man
Who fixed my fan
And when it broke again
He fixed it again
Only to burn the coil
And get paid again!

***