Walk with me along the smooth pavement of the footway
where the sun makes zebra-patterns with the tree shadows
and I will show you the light glittering on upper-storey windows of silent flats –
voices are never raised
Here the white paint always gleams:
dustless Saturday afternoons wait
while the natives (dressed by Harvey Nicks) drape on sofa and mantelpiece
and the cutlery comes in sets of twelve
A string quartet or baroque guitar hushes the hallway
free of cooking smells or greasy flyers for take-away.
The sun shines on upper flats
like winter glaciers in the Alps –
Do you see from the pavement it looks pristine?