Sunday, 10pm

Above me,
the rustle of a bat
the soft thump of a falling pear.
Behind me,
chickens stir then settle,
crooning themselves to sleep.
Around me,
cool night air
the muffled voices of neighbours
the clink of a glass.
Below me,
my mother's wicker basket
a tangle of wet towels.
Before me,
a clothesline, some pegs,
my mother's hands at work
and peeking over the fence:
the moon.