The old folks should know
it was foolish to move their
burnt-out city boy and his library
out here, to the back of beyond.
He only reads the Radio Times, now
from cover to cover - over and over;
repeatedly sighing when he carefully
rises up and out of a worn wing chair,
shuffles the two or so yards to the set;
and slowly, deliberately switches over.
No need to tell them how
these languid, attenuated days
have rendered me enervated:
like a fish too long out of water.
© Sophia Roberts
All rights reserved
1 comment:
Another piece or work I felt compelled to revised after our last meeting!
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