A stone ping'd against the glass, cold and hard, a sharp crack that startled me and food boiled-over in the pan and you wanting in - but a distance down - hoying stones at the window. I was curtained, trying oblivion, but the threat of shattered glass, chips and damage, splinters on my floor, of too much damn breakage - well, someone else opened the door and there you stood baleful, eyes green as marbles and hard.next poem