Love Or No Love

How am I going to stare through this window at a bent ladder 
repairing in the shade, the high, wild, overgrown grass,

the bougainvilleas bursting through the inflexible fence boards? 

How am I going to stare through this window at a sun-faded wagon 
with its handle in the dirt like a dog’s tongue, rusted and spent, 

a makeshift fire pit brimming with the beer-soaked ashes of laughter? 

How am I supposed to vanish in this reflection of my luxurious inertia 
(while shooting rubber bands into blank space, their sedative hum 

in perfect tune with my stretching tomcats sleeping all day)
   
if you are going to stand here, so damned insistent on
waving your green flag at me and blocking my view?