What Do You Call It?

Holes in the wall that you call windows.

Repeated, repeated.

Open on the coldest day of the year.

I do not mind.

I do not mind a lot of things.

I do mind a lot of things.

The sound of music.

Foggy window but sun shining in.

The church steeple is peeking

up over my view.

Morning day,

bring on my unknown life.

The plastic part on the string of the blinds

banging against the dirty brown window pane…

more and more disturbing.

Others are distracted.

I do not mind.

Remember?