Image by Jenna Mann
Mr. Pither’s House
Poem by Jennifer Irvine
Wizened red cedar siding fades
into neighbourhood at the end of my laneway
as subtle as a home after a house-wrecking party.
I walk through decades of tiny moments with
my eye only on his basement window
trying to catch a glimpse of my reflection
from the waist down
Brown curtains his wife would have cleaned
(had she been alive) drawn like the flowerless garden below
on every window save for a slit exposing
a barley tweed lampshade tilted
towards his wheat plaid La-Z- Boy.
Blue flannel shirt bulks
the spindly frame of an old lumberman.
Outline of wire-framed glasses
peer over raddled face reading a book.
I assess my jeans in the makeshift mirror,
reflection borrowed from his basement window.
Not willing to return it like a good neighbour.