Confession of a Window Cleaner


Mike was quiet, said we should hurry, pointed Smears out (usually on a Monday). Only Birds were heard singing (well, it was his round, see). 12 o’ clock dinner


When the Daily Telegraph hogged the fire And I could smoke outside. He checked the markets Like a football table and kipped ten minutes. Then I might worry


Over rent, arguments at home, horses. Would I have inspected my tongue so often – Left my pulse alone – in a different position? What was my life for?


Cups of tea and biscuits? Occasionally More exciting clues from a housewife (Clouseau, Even, would have noticed the boobs on 18 Mandela Gardens!).


’Round four winter, whoever owed was hunted. After barking dogs and a child reaching For the lock, silence made snowmen of us. (Mike, it was rumoured,


Haunted midnight, crawled on all fours to follow Up a noise once – and was found in the cat-flap). With dust saying clean me, the ladder just so, Hitchin was slowly


Left, the news, full blast, on the radio. He admired passing cars while I nodded At the stars. The pub he just didn’t fancy. Good job. I cursed him.


GEOFFREY LOE 5


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