Put the hammer down, sir,
and step away from the skill saw.
This is a good neighbourhood
on a Sunday. We like to sleep,
wake slow to the hollow notes
of dawn, the tripping toes light
against the corrugated roofs
of lean-tos; a fresh wind
kicking the can along the tarmac;
a distant rattle of saucers,
tea cups, coffee spoons; a cough
from another room.
All this is good.
Put the fucking hammer down, sir.