Sober,

Sober,

In front of the television

It is blank,

A great black hole

In front of the window.

A cute middle-aged couple

In matching shirts,

Autumnal colours,

Fuss around the edges

Perhaps they want to be on TV

Sucked into the ether

Starring in

Their own rom-com

Instead of filling the car

With groceries

In the rain.

I wonder about contentment

Not quite happy

But close to satisfaction,

It is fleeting

I can never hold on to it,

Happiness

Is born slippy.

I’ve never enjoyed

A mirror

The insignificance

Of personal drama

Puts me in mind

Of a failure

To thrive.

If it has been possible

To blame something

Other than my own

Lack of effort

I have.

Or maybe I haven’t

Self-doubt promotes

Self-flagellation.

Try harder

The teacher said

How much

I always asked

Isn’t being top boy

Good enough?

Apparently not

Is always the answer.

Being underappreciated

Is a sure way

To keep trying

To stay one step ahead

Of being found out.

One day

My boy,

One day

You will try harder

And you just might

Make the grade.

I am old enough

To be a listed building.

The couple look at each other

As they get into the car

They look happy

Perhaps there is hope

For me yet.