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Found Out

I’m challenged; lock down cut me off,

and open up, not that at all.

I see so few but on the screen,

caught unaware who’s living, died.

My phone voice phoney, stutter style,

slow DVLA, driven once,

so only closest family

have broken bonds, Zoom brake applied.

But scan the banks, the memory -

it tells me that I know no-one;

I’m not a social, mixing man,

no sport or hobby, local pub;

exotic trip, the cemetery -

I’m stay at home, just not found out.

I did join ranks, doctor’s advice,

community, a singing choir;

rebuked for mispronouncing name

of village, Welsh, where now we live.

With quiver hand sought half a cup,

but brimful told, we all shake here,

and when I used descending lift,

informed the cost, that I should walk.

So such the harmony I felt,

I ended it; no score, withdraw.

Distractions from pained Parky legs

are online dance and poetry,

and neither furnish quirky marks -

mere confirmations, middle class.

Imaginations smith the words,

but, truth to tell - I’m licenced not.

I’ve six decades’ capacity

of storage tales as spring to mind -

but recall, and that screen of course

are only sources artist’s note.

That’s why I hunger for the prompt,

some stimulus to stop the rot,

increase, through google, new research,

consumed by latest patchy facts.

The only foibles, off-beat traits.

or idiosyncratic ways,

eccentric days, are mine alone,

and what is mine, assumed the norm.

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