Was it noon she waited for in her blue-green nightie?
her slender body perpendicular to the tracks, part daring
part shy, her gaze devoted to something in the bright east
morning ought to have brought, or would yet bring
The sun had already climbed to the knees of the CN tower,
but had not revealed what she needed and with the jitters
waited for in bare feet at a gate suffocated by vines.
What it was good for then was a mystery – except –
By it you could sketch out two free-styling mounds and
a bikini under flimsy fabric, hem aflutter at her knees,
like turquoise waves at the edge of the Mediterranean sea
swoosh . . . swoosh . . .
Judgemental people she seemed to think
were tucked tight in percale sheets and aircon —
and blind just then to the thickening morning air
and her in her nightie, without the standard pillow
to squeeze as she scoured the length of the tracks,
prepared either to pounce, or to scuttle home