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Click hereTo break the long, oppressive afternoon
I'm slowly walking down the narrow paths
you find between the fences and the walls
that block the drowsy gardens from your view,
paths shaded by the overhanging leaves
of tall trees' branches. The uneven bricks
are grass-grown near the edges; where I walk
there's well-worn lichen. Now and then a door
is half ajar, enough to get a glimpse
of other people's private lives, but just a glimpse –
some brightly-coloured deckchairs, or a patch
of rather shabby grass, some flowers – never
any people, though there is the sound
of leaves upon the breeze, and birds, and far
beyond the houses children's cries. You feel
an all-pervading calm, a quiet flow
of lazy talk, its strung-together words
just like an extra breeze; there's some low laughter
from an open, first-floor window: gladness
that's cascading down before my feet
to disappear into the chinks. There is
no breaking time... The afternoon will turn
and twist, uncoiling like a snake, to face
me when I least expect it, cruel and stern.