We converse in loops,
as though my face triggers
a cassette tape you recorded
eight years ago.

You like the view,
you can see the church spire
and the road is quieter
in the evenings.

You wish that you could still
ride a horse, and
you never learned to drive
because he said you would **** someone.

They tell you not to put
bird food on your balcony
in case of acrobatic rats.
You feed a friendly pigeon in secret.