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Is it me Am I irredeemably nosey, Or do other people Feel an overwhelming desire To eagerly peer into the hole The workmen are digging Just to see. Maybe it’s the feeling That other lives are more interesting Which draws me to look in At lighted windows, To catch a glimpse of Their house, their life. The conversation overheard On a bus or in a café, Always seems so interesting. For a moment I am part Of another world, Though still apart. The threads of life weave together As you sit in the waiting room. And surreptitiously watch and listen To how other people’s lives Are mingled with your own. Going for a walk in the fields A family of foxes Suddenly melts in to the foreground. And I stand there hardly breathing. In the hope I haven’t been noticed. I have of course, And there we stand Watching each other. But who else has noticed this moment? The woman pulling on the bedroom curtains? The rabbit at the other end of the field? The worms under my feet? Each one interested for their own reasons. We are all obsessed with watching: The security cameras in a shop, The speed cameras in the street, The hidden cameras in pedestrian areas, All there to watch. I am not alone, then, In my interest with other lives, We watch television, Go to the cinema, the theatre, Go to the zoo, All to catch a furtive glance Of other people, living other lives. |
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