I have always loved it up here,
though twice I have been arrested
on suspicion of being a burglar.
Each time the charge was dropped,
but I was required to attend
a series of sessions
with a psychiatrist.
He said my fascination with rooftops
(he called it an obsession),
was a sign of anxiety.
Perhaps I felt I was being betrayed
or that somehow I had been rejected.
I told him I just preferred the view.
He lives opposite St Martin’s Church,
from the roof of which I sometimes watch
his wife dressing in the morning,
in front of the window he opens
each day when he rises,
and then being stripped naked again
by her lover as soon as he has gone.
