The Window Seat

I remember her eyes prying

From her window seat,
with binoculars and note pad,
police scanner turned up loud,
Grammy D used to watch and reflect
upon the comings and goings.

Neighbors in the housing development
were never sure
their most intimate moments
were truly invisible to
prying eyes.

Onto the writing pad
would go license plates,
marital spats, good and bad kids,
police calls, and suspects
for every crime,
real or imagined
in Sherrard Village,
where she dwelt.

From her window seat,
Gramma D thought she commanded
her world and subjects,
much like a queen of
the low income folk.

Grammy D thought she saw all,
busy neglecting the daughters
who learned to hate
her busy ways and story-like
hate for their fathers.

It's a shame that those
who know and see all can
end up seeing nothing
except loss and loneliness
from their window seat.