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Prufrock On Lockdown

Today drags its pale length
as does the serpent
slow, stately, watchful
a day like any other
the day that follows yesterday
always preceding tomorrow
like a tedious argument

Unplanned
both shy of work
and play bereft
hot-desking
and agile-working
not working for me
my day now
structured by eating
measured by meals
by medication
by those forever coffee spoons

Nothing planned
so nothing to regret
meaningless moments
with nothing arranged
only possibilities are exciting
the five o’clock briefing
another dose of dead antiques
another bargain hunted down
one more home under the hammer
another escape to the country
to the chateau or the sun
but from my armchair
escape is no longer an option
glimpsed desires unfulfilled
and not a matter of money

The seaside too
still eludes me
retaining its magnetism
but with the pull of the tide
unable to reach me
The Lakes a mirage in my memory
a Prelude taught to feel,
perhaps too much,
the self-sufficing power of solitude
but this solitude no longer blissful

It now descends
the yellow fog
obscuring the future
taking with it the meaning of my days
rubbing its back against the window panes
of this my settled cell
licking it’s tongue
into the corners
of my every uneventful evening.
my every desultory day