Looking for Lovers?

by Ryan Quinn Flanagan

There is a guy
who stands at the corner of my street
each morning,
picking his nose
for the better part of an hour.

I stand by the window
and watch him
in morbid fascination
while he greets his neighbours
as they head off to work.

Dressed in nothing
but his housecoat and slippers,
the guy
who stands at the corner of my street
each morning
picking his nose
for the better part of an hour
has a cup of coffee,
but he does not drink it.

He just splashes it out
over the side of the curb
in small increments
until the hour is up
and he is done picking
his nose.

He then heads back into the house.
Lowering the automatic garage door
behind him
before peering out of his own
front window
moments later.

We usually ignore the intrusive presence
of one another
but sometimes exchange the odd wave
or awkward nod

as we both watch the guy
up in the tree
five houses down
who feeds the birds sunflower seeds
as he uses his binoculars
to peer through the bedroom window
of his ex-wife.

Looking
for lovers,

I’d imagine.