Birdwatcher, Sidetracked
quintain
From my wheel chair facing their veranda
I could not distinguish the girl next door.
She looked somewhat like my niece, Miranda,
except for her hair halfway to the floor.
(Miranda always kept her hair shorter.)
I turned the music down so I could hear
the conversation that was taking place.
Although I consider myself a seer
who reads expressions on a person’s face,
I discerned the voice of a reporter -
well-known correspondent on radio.
She posed some questions, most of which I missed.
Once she turned her head towards me, just so
and I caught one, clearly getting her gist.
“Is your neighbor watching us from her deck?”
Taking the hint, I retreated inside,
unaware of how obvious I’d been.
It was then I saw what she had descried.
Eavesdropping had not caused her chagrin,
‘twas the field glasses hanging ‘round my neck.
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