I am at the other end of a TV reality show
watching morally, while flicking the index
of a book about a War, selecting a stance.
Now I stare out the patio windows
at the neighbour’s garden, shake my head
at the state of his hibiscus.
Earlier I heard a phone-in on the radio,
‘Who’d phone in to this rubbish?’
I heard myself shouting to my wife.
The cupboards in my kitchen are ordered,
with nothing in not to my taste.
My walls are papered and painted in colours
I chose, and to my standards.
Why do other people not understand
what is so easy to understand?
I live my life with very folded arms.
I do not like it
when my wife tries to touch me.
You cannot be young all your life,
I keep reminding her.