Window

You look at me as if I wasn’t there
But my transparency is deceptive.
I can blur the truth when dirty or misted
And conjure up untruthful reflections.
I have many different forms:
ornate and decorative
(Useless for looking out of),
Simple (providing shelter from the elements)
And even partly-opaque
(Dissuading ‘peeping toms’ as you relieve yourself).
I am not just a view out, perhaps an escape from boredom,
But also a view in: an abuse of privacy
Making you a goldfish bowl.
At night you cover me up
As if ashamed of what you are doing, what I will reveal.
I am like thin air, but I am a collection of vague memories
(And cobwebs), faint images stored within my panes
You don’t realise this.
Look out.

Owen Everett

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