A dark evening, a friend calls,
tells of his brother-in-law’s funeral,
says, did you know there are five police cars
in your cul-de-sac, one officer opened
the boot of a car, gave out rifles.
The time is 6pm.
Somewhere nearby there has been
a disturbance, blank windows reflect
ourselves, all of us are guilty of something.
Our staring-out gives nothing away.
Maybe there will be a ramming
of our door, officers seek out
awkward corners where we’ve hidden
tightly wrapped parcels,
hoping no-one would notice.