I hear the tumble of voices

I hear the tumble of voices

The welcome in their song

Old friends over lunch

On a balcony, shaded from the midday sun

They are not mad Englishmen after all

Spending time together

Even through a lockdown

Nothing seems to matter

But the idle chatter of home birds

Neighbours for so many years

They consider themselves family

Which is just as well

As the rules they break

Might have repercussions

For the rest of us

When the prospect of an extension

To the isolation lingers on

There are so many Crows

Waiting outside on top

Of a Gray gum tree

Perhaps they can smell the decay

Old people are suckers

For ignoring a protocol

Behind closed doors

Apartment blocks are not

The same as one dwelling

Not that they would ever

Take a telling

But the clatter of plates

Does tell a story

Of domesticity

The ties of community

Can wrap us in knots

If we try to unravel them

What else is left

But friendship

When all is said and done

Too many hours spent alone

Is as bad as an isolation tank

Sensory deprivation

Out of body experiences

Of the worst kind

I hear them laugh

It rolls over the edge

Like an over filled bath

And I luxuriate in the warmth

Of its touch

Human contact is a must

To remain compos mentis

Splayed out in the sun

Drunk as a skunk with a god complex

Trying to remain sober

As a judge is easy

When they all seem to like a tipple

Slipped into a glass next to the gavel

If they were hanging judges

My neighbours would be prime stock

For the humour

Of the gallows