The third story window of the new four-story brick condo,
high-ceilinged stories, is set badly. It’s about five feet above our back
porch, about four feet from our porch, at a good angle for glaring down at us.
A person standing in that window is standing from a taller spot than I might be,
and this difference in height annoys me in a way I find surprising.
Do I feel that I am somehow superior to the non-existent
resident of that building? Yes I do. Because? Something’s wrong with me,
something wrong that I will not soon correct, what with the prohibitive cost of
therapy and the amoebic mass of student debt that gains ground with interest
even now as I type this, chewing jelly beans. Or maybe I don't feel superior, I
just don’t want them to be able to watch me so easily.
What I know now is that I will need to find a way to block
their view. Jasmine, which is always creeping into songs and poetry, would be
good for this. I will smell it midsummer and realized that I have more or less,
prejudices and finances aside, been victorious.
