Digitised ticking an elastic straining of moments held at bay
Outside, a sleepy sun sighs a silent sonorous slumber
Inside a mind blanked blinks a blanketed thought a sliver
A thousand books of gibberishy text
A playlist in songs of tuneless acoustics
Funnies two three four generations delayed
On the idiot box, a sitcom a trillion times replayed
On days like these a wishful wonder
A Kino, a Borders, a BookXS as neighbour
Or a box, old comics; pages yellowed staples rusted
Perhaps a radio show, a drama imagined, acts in the mind enacted
On days like these, to be elsewhere
Shades on whilst sunning under a shaded shadowed spot
Day’s paper unopened shirt unbuttoned a showing of body hair unflustered
Waves breaking the surf, the breeze moving at a trot
On days like these…
Maybe I should wish a simpler wish
A squishy marshmallow, a blissful nap, a walk impromptu
A surprise company with tales to astonish
Or maybe listen to a talking cuckatoo
Days like these…
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