Low-hanging fruit

Rather as if

a pair of transatlantic rowers

should find themselves upon a pond,

or the chief exec of Waitrose

were to wake one morning

with just a village store to run,

we’re here, together, in this house, alone,

the whole intricate superstructure

we spent the last 30 years assembling

dismantled now, or rusting in a shed.

 

How does it feel?

Too soon to say.

Here. Put your hand in mine. Breathe.

Listen to this empty room resound.