Window on the world

Twitch the curtain – show me the midnight gist
of the here and now. Rooms abandoned, best
framed in this almost-Hopper light (“Almost,”
you sigh, “but not quite.”). Neighbours who adjust
to social interaction. Shadows cast

like writing on the wall, as if joining in
(“Also,” you cry, “I think I know that woman –
that one –”);

then both phones ping. Duplicate letters
spell out the worst from another world (“Two shooters...
enough,” you say, “no more. No more of that.”)
The world as seen by a pair of curtain-twitchers.