By | 1 June 2013

I hop up onto my bathtub’s rim
peep through the exhaust fan slats into the apartment
across an abyss-like drop between our buildings

He’s leaning (topless) against a fridge in board-shorts
fondling the long, dark strip of down-like gut-fuzz,
his other hand thumb-surfing airwaves via remote control
(TV the length of outstretched arms catching his sports)

Those walls without pictures or paintings, no ornaments
but for a pair of swimming goggles pendent off
a nail above his kitchen nook

If peering like me he’d see I’ve decorated my walls:
two framed photos of Ferraris, a pastel drawing
I bought off a footpath artist: Elvis pointing & winking
out of a kangaroo’s pouch

& my favourite illustration: a penguin holding a fat cigar
on an iceberg afloat an expansive sea, its caption reads:
Eh, anyone got a light for me?

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