By Bren Simmers
The neighbour’s children gallop
at seven am, plywood construction vibrates
my pillow as their washer enters spin.
After the school bell, the whine and thud
of the garbage truck—crap,
we forgot to put ours out.
Hit snooze until clock radio bleats,
roll into each other like fall’s
windspun leaves. Blackout curtains
block shades of grey, the neighbours’
adjacent windows. Early bird gets the rain,
but here there is no shortage of worms
or rain. We wake at coffee break.
Roll into days like a third generation
Monarch, wear prolegs until noon.
By evening, footstep thunder and door slams
clear to a high pressure ridge.
Alpenglow, fireplace coals, townhomes
dim one by one—only the hum
of flood lights illuminating
the blossoms in the yard.
This hour belongs to us alone.
Why ruin it with song.
Bren Simmers is the author of two books of poetry, Night Gears (2010) and Hastings-Sunrise (2015), which was a finalist for the City of Vancouver Book Award. She is currently working on a new poetry manuscript about Howe Sound, BC.