Old bells wake me up
At ten, then the wing snaps
Of pigeons skirting the courtyard
Bring me to the window,
Where the young cosmeticians
In their very clean outfits
On break check their phones
And smoke and laugh among
Their number and roll
Their beautiful made-up
Eyes at me when from above
I wish all three of them
A good day, then one flicks
An ash and blinks twice,
Another takes a deep drag,
And the third continues
To answer the message
Her father sent from home,
Concerning the death
Of the family cow,
So white and brown.