INTIMATE

There across the street from me
a window, curtains seldom closed
living room displayed for all to see
all within fully exposed.

An old couple living their lives there.
They have company...maybe once a week.
Her head is white, his almost bare.
Though no voyeur I sometimes peek.

Their T.V. by chance faces the street,
their chairs and sofa in plain view
through that picture window clean and neat
showing all, in that room, they might do.

Most evenings the T.V. is on
wife and husband in their favorite chair
watching shows maybe remarking upon
the programs at which they both stare.

But tonight the screen is solid black
yet they still sit and even smile
exchanging glances forth and back,
feet and fingers tapping all the while.

I deduce their stereo is playing
with vinyl records from long ago
when you could still tell what singers were saying
in verses all us old folks know.

Then he arises holding out his hand.
She smiles and rises to her feet
old hips barely swaying to the band.
They embrace and dance to a slow beat.

I blink then turn my gaze away
as I feel a blush spread over me
then I close my curtains and turn away.
Some things are far too intimate to see.