I'm tired from work
But I'm close to home
My parcels are heavy
As are my feet

I stop on the tallest hill
I light my last cigarette
And sit
And stare
Over half the city
For the first time

There's a girl in a bottom window
She wipes the oven clean
And prepares her meal
She has raven hair and wears plaid
I can't see her face

I finish my cigarette
And head downhill
Home