Neighbour

My dear neighbour
bangs on doors and skates in halls,
his protestations penetrating
thin as paper walls.
Sometimes I cup a glass to listen
and find his rhetoric
convincing.

My dear neighbour
starts a riot in peace and quiet
and stands among the ruins
pouring gasoline on dampened fires.
And when I hear his call to arms,
inside my head resounds
alarms.

My dear neighbour
sparks a light on dynamite,
illuminates the bedroom
where I toss and turn at night.
Sometimes I look through cracks in plaster
and glimpse a forecast of
disaster.

My dear neighbour
infiltrates when I’m away
and leaves the carcass of a ladybird
upon the fireplace.
And when I see the mangled limbs,
the light below the mantel
dims.

My dear neighbour
takes his leave beneath the eaves
and disappears for weeks on end
if only to deceive.
But I know that he’s never gone:
he always turns up
later on.

Prophecy

In that moment,
I foresaw
the days
and weeks
and months
and years
ahead.

I foresaw
the barren hours
emptied like a bullet
from the chamber:
irredeemable,
irretrievable.

I foresaw
the solitary seconds
counted by the clock
standing sentinel,
ticking away
infinity.

I foresaw
a fork in the path,
a bend in the arrow,
a disorder in the stars,
a disturbed point of
departure.

I foresaw
the ripples reaching
like outstretched fingers
out to the ocean’s end
and over the edge of the
horizon.

In that moment,
I foresaw
the days
and weeks
and months
and years
ahead.