Waste of time

The familiar sounds of fan

And frogs


And other bugs

Belies the anxious thought

It could soon be us

I’ve switched off the news

I won’t look again

Whatever comes

It will be met

At garden gate

Or front door

Or sliding through the gap

At Woolworths


Yes – it will be that

But worrying about it now

When I could be reading

Seems a waste of a lovely Autumn evening


I’m not doing that anymore

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