A View

Jupiter and Venus
come later, when the boy
practicing free throws
goes away for supper.
There are always gulls,
and the girl on the 9th floor
balcony across Buket Street
smokes and texts her boyfriend.
In her gray summer dress,
she’s disappeared.

In the courtyard
of the White Bird Apartments,
the swimming pool’s
still, the lounge chairs
aligned for Friday afternoon
for people who don’t work,
for people with hours
and glasses of tea
to make scenes.
I envy their notebooks,
the cats they’ll feed
through the chain-link fence.

But that’ll be tomorrow,
and only an imagined thing
between the Marmara Sea
and the sky where I watch
a stooped old man going home,
his bags full of black potatoes,
newspapers, and bread,
his shoulders weary
of the city in which we
pretend to live.

Carl Boon lives and works in Istanbul, Turkey. Recent or forthcoming poems appear in NEAT, Jet Fuel Review, Blast Furnace, Kentucky Review, and many other magazines.

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