LVIII
They say window glass is not porous
But the experts are wrong once again,
As I prove every single time
I clean a window pane.
I wash and shine the outside
And get it gleaming clean
Then I go back indoors
And repeat the whole routine.
But as I rub and polish
I notice with surprise
That a greasy patch has moved outside
Before my very eyes.
So out I go with my "shammy"
To wipe the window pane,
But the smear has seen me coming
And gone inside again.
I do not give up easily
And pursue that errant smudge
In and out - and out and in
As through the house I trudge.
Then the glass plays its trump card.
Yes, I know it's hard to believe,
It holds the smear within it
'Till I think I've won - and leave
As |I sip a well-earned coffee,
I can't believe my eyes:
A blurry, smudgy mark appears -
It spreads and multiplies.
I will get my own back,
I'll ignore it - look the other way,
Then suddenly pounce and wipe it off -
But some other day.
Now when, in the dim and distant future
Someone with a very high degree
Discovers this phenomenon in window glass
Will anybody ever think of me?
To me.
September 1990
