There is a shade
above the double window
in our bedroom.

I pull it down when I’m undressing
to thwart a peeping Tom
if  there should there be one
intrigued by what I wear upon my bones.

Silly, isn’t it, that I should care
if someone stares at me
when I am bare at nearly eighty-one?

I really doubt there’s anyone there
but pull the shade down
to suggest my meager hope
that there’ll be someone
out beyond my window.

This entry was posted in Poems. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply