Glass Fishbowl

Construction siteI sit dainty at my table,

Plate and finger poised just so,

When I notice workmen pausing.

From across the mud-drenched garden,

They lift their bottles, put down baguettes,

And contemplate this middle-aged white woman

In a house far too big, eating alone.

Their wave of raw appraisal hits in fluxes,

Till I rush to close the shutters, hide

My morsels in the dark.


fishbowlSo the pebbles clatter roundly

To fill the base of your fishbowl,

Stinging scarlet your scales of gold.

Disapproved, disproved, smirked at,

The woman sits and scribbles wildly,

While we pile our judgements up in mounds.

Ragamuffin she seeks flotsam

Debris of a human life

To make up stories

No one wants to read at all.

Inspired by the workmen, crane and building site just opposite my living room and study. Noise, dust and curious eyes have accompanied me for a few weeks now… I am almost hoping for REALLY bad weather, so that they have to stop work. [The last 3 days of pouring rain were not enough to dampen their enthusiasm.] They are not there now, it’s the sacred French lunch break.



9 thoughts on “Glass Fishbowl”

  1. Marina Sofia – Oh, you have captured that feeling so well! I always feel exactly that way whenever there are landscapers at work around here. It’s an uncomfortable feeling isn’t it?

  2. I really appreciate the imagery used here. Besides the fishbowl image (especially with its gold stung scarlet inhabitants), the contrast in the work you do. — their building something utilitarian and your building worlds with words– is quite striking.

    Glad to meet you, by the way!

    1. A pleasure meeting you too, and thank you for your visit to my blog! I hadn’t consciously thought about the contrast, although unconsciously I must have felt it of course. Great observation!

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