They’re working on that spy plane again;
first the scrapy sounds of sanding –
on and on it goes,
all morning, and now they’re rolling
something that sounds like a skateboard
along the dining room wall.
The sporty one arrives home and starts
to unload the camera equipment
from the boot of his Fiat Punto and the others
come outside to help. We watch their progress
from behind the living room curtain.
Could that be a bomb? you ask, surely not a bomb?
At 4pm they test the engines;
the roar vibrates the entire house.
I imagine any minute they might take off,
come smashing out through the back wall.
And will they come back? we wonder,
and who will they actually spy on?
But for now we watch the bald one
sitting outside the scratched back door,
stirring a tin of camouflage paint and humming –
such loud humming – like a giant mosquito,
until finally he puts down his stick
and goes back inside to paint the plane.