My old enemy,Grown his thick bushy red beardIn the five years since.String of white tinsel,Strung between two thin branchesBowing to the breezeHer naked bottomVisible in a white flashGone to thunder now.Electric fan blastCave-cold in my left armpitDVD skipping.I watch the trafficOr, did, until tall condosReplaced the yoga barnHow strange, to have come