There are men in my house today
They unload glass panes and aluminum
frames, ladders, saws, crowbars and
lime-coloured insulation, some
noxious spray that makes new windows
glide
with ease
The men, though,
they do not glide
but stomp and push
force and grunt
old windows
out
push new ones
in
surround them with pristine
frames,
white and glistening
Someone recently told me
women use 10,000 words a day
Men use only half
These men use
no words
take their noise,
and leave
a sparkling clarity of view
echo of the unsaid