Ucheobi (My Window)

A Portrait of the view from my window and it's metamorphosis over the past decade and a half I have been fanscinated by it.

My window is a perch from which I watch daisy mangroves envelope a lonely
back-alley
And the plodding tragi-comedy of an everlong skirmish 'tween the wilting sublimity of God and himself;
Last year,
I saw His attentions turn and slowly spurn, greenly and gracefully, onto a carpark, which, in it's adjacency, had caus'd offence;
His wrinkled genitals all seaweed khaki and mottled and matted brown and thorny like
A crown he must have borrowed from himself or taken from the shelf to scare me
A few miles up and a good while back.
And fast like snapping lute-strings chas'd Spring and Sun and a garb of flowers
An alb of blossom white, a stole of lilly pink
I watch'd, undistracted by the textural paean of black-birds in song, while
His pretty creepers sunk (and still sink)
under the tread of van-wheels
Still attempting to swallow and reclaim - with justice glowing in every petal -
that little scarr'd car park that looks far less than half His age
while six wooden fences carve plots of sad land per diem
for lodgers uninterested in the mania of clashing dukes on the battle-stage
behind and beneath.

It took near a decade but my gaze
Still lingers, dry, through my window
Flickering -
Anxious for the next fight.


D.B.B