Wind. The horns of the late afternoon buses blare past.
The plastic carousel of underwear dances
provocatively. Dark thunder skies.
They need not kohl their eyes, their soft voices,
they prepare themselves, gentle see-you-laters.

He wakes from his sleep, brushes leaves from his jacket,
comically adjusts his attire, watches
the girls at their unselfconscious work
from his secret nest under an innocuous bush,
relaxing flatuence, digesting chicken.