The women, dressed in blue and turquoise and green
Are lounging on the lawn,finally tanning a bit in the pale January sun,
They laugh louder than any women I’ve ever heard before,
It is more like a roar than a laugh.
The kids are playing cricket, sweating in long-pants and sweaters.
Pigeons are zooming overhead, diving suddenly for something no one else can see.
A plane engine, hidden behind whitish smog, drowns out the sound of bird cackle
And causes little boys to shield their eyes and stare into the white sky,
But to no avail, there is no plane to be seen.
A stray dog catches their attention instead and the mothers scold
And pretend-throw imaginary stones at the canine intruder.
Meanwhile, the pigeons have finally settled on the rooftops
And a welcome breeze grazes and silvers the dark green river,
Making tiny fish startle by the sudden absence of silence.