We pay for heat, help love
wash, vacuum and surrender.
All I want to know is
why is this my problem?
No junk mail. No hawkers.
Do not ring bell. My children call.
We work hard.
We deserve.
Whatever the mountains
look like from the air—
if they’re icing sugar
or creamy teeth
I just don’t
need to know.
I measure safety
in the span between sirens
and in the distance
a scream carries.
What happens next
is
the motherly daphne
by the front door
spills her scent to the man
with the leaflets in the pram.
I just don’t
need to know
why its petals
look like teeth.