Waiting for Heather to get home

Her stone front step is steeped in sun. Birdsong twirls above the distant deep chatter of trains, an occasional car. A dented empty coke can waits on the window-sill. A woman passes, hunched forward as if she's swallowed a ball of pain. A workman replaces grey slate roof tiles. A skinny girl with a frizz of dyed-purple hair grins at me.