Three drafts later
however long the stanza
I’m still falling short
whist birds sing in the day.
I’d all my points lined up
for our first beer in months
now fading in significance
and urgency to say.
Real contact dwindled,
scrolls filled in the blanks,
differences surprised,
memes would dismay.
Despite all the silence
clicks on hide and block
didn’t cease the accounts
of many a soiree.
Now stuck in lockdown
in place of clearing air
I picture folds of laugher
on our Chiswick getaway.
May we crease up again
unable to hold our pints
playing Paul and John or
The Revenant with a jay.