Walking under the suburban trees I stare through curtained windows at the complacencies of the middle class. A guy cutting back weeds on the lawn and I withdraw into a greeting; a fleshy grandmother walking up a drive and I think how queer it is; but a young woman watering flowers or a savage beauty bathing in the sun and I think how nice it would be to live behind a manicured hedge having tea and discussing Henry James and quietly fucking all the neighbors’s wives.

27 May 1978