I’ve run out of interest in novels, and the worthy shows
The National Theatre makes available, to chatterers at home alone.
I’m weary of the telephone, and Zoom, Skype, the zone which stands in for real life.
I’m a member of every possible cause
now I’ve less personal strife.
I miss the whiff of others’ pits, finding reasons to decline
invitations to attend,
things which kind, well meaning friends,
hope I might enjoy.
I miss the misery of commutes –
fantasies of mini breaks, visits to the coast.
I miss the gritty, mithering, mess
of family life the most.