Even as my head droops low

Even as my head droops low

Nobody would know

If I was sleeping

Or deep in thought

Dark glasses are a boon

In such circumstance

Just as the poetry of Auden

Plays well with this

Unusually

Pleasant torpor.

A leaky pen leaves an ink stain

On a white shirt,

How many times

Do I have to be reminded

To put a lid on it

Metaphorically speaking

As it slips and slides

Out of my hand.

The wind is a gentle zephyr

Straight out of the Iliad

Homer would have to laugh

At the way every word

Is moved around

On a tablet

As mythical language

Is so manoeuvrable.

I have travelled without moving

Another Oddessey

Of imaginary proportions

Barely affected

By the noise

Of laughter from children

Bouncing on a trampoline

One garden over

What a strange day

Upon which to dwell.

To be both alive and awake

At one and the same time

When there is reason

To believe

The world should have ended

Long ago

And would have

Had I let it.

Perhaps there is value

In holding on

To the small things

Just to experience a day

As good as this.