When I look out of my window
past the decorative bars
designed to keep the riff-raff out,
there is a sort of parapet
that I am slowly converting
into a little deck area.
That is where I intend
to put out some plants,
grow some tomatoes,
sit, read the paper,
and get some sun.
Below me is a busy street
which I can't see, only hear.
And beyond that is the ghetto.
Every night, I can hear people
going about their lives.
Sometimes there are gunshots.
Usually the police copter
comes overhead every other night.
There is a café on the  corner,
but I have stopped going there.

When I look out of my window,
I can see your children, your husband,
and you. You are lucky to have that bond,
because it is one of life's little miracles
within the very big scheme of things.
I know that because I have few friends,
most of them are far away,
and I live alone.