Mrs Uomo on Sheds
Mrs Uomo is watching her new neighbours
build a shed in their garden.
Not a shed really, more of a ranch house.
Three rooms thick. Blocking light, brooding
like Wagner’s shadow. To hide it
she will have to grow a poplar hedge.
Only, thinks Mrs Uomo, over breakfast tea,
it isn’t being built by them but by her father.
A wedding present. When the previous couple
moved in, her father ripped up the grass
at the front and laid bricks. Treacherous in ice
for Mrs Uomo’s wonky hip. They divorced.