By John Updike [1932-2009]
Telephone Poles and Other Poems, 1959
Sitting here in my house,
looking through my windows,
diagonally at my neighbor’s house
I see his sun-porch windows;
they are filled with blue-green,
the blue-green of my car,
which I parked in front of my house,
more or less, up the street,
where I can’t directly see it.
How promiscuous is
the world of appearances!
How frail are property laws!
To him his window is filled with his
things: his lamp, his plants, his radio.
How annoyed he would be to know
that my car, legally parked,
yet violates his windows,
paints them full
(to me) of myself, my car,
my well-insured ’55 Fordor Ford
a gorgeous green sunset streaking his panes.
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