Over the high and peeling fence
A white cat slips, pads down the track
And stops, intent.
A bedroom window opens with a clatter.
The quietly growing wind
Swirls so an ornamental cherry, bending,
Points down the road.
The sound of a circling helicopter, throbbing,
Fades very quickly as a plastic bag
Whipped by the wind wraps round a street-light column
Slides to the ground, is still.
The stopped cat, tensed,
Intent, stares straight
The wind has dropped
No traffic growls