Back to the old homestead

I bump into you

The last time we saw each other

We were ready to embrace the new


Your eyes on a spot behind me

Waiting for someone else

You detach yourself for a moment

And enquire as to my health


I’ve been about, I say

Gone from here to there

Tried some new things, now back to the old

Then meet your horrified stare


You raise eyebrows you’ve spent hours

On looking like you’ve left alone

And say, Oh, but how

Will you ever afford a home


You went your way I went mine

There is no right or wrong

There’s more than one way to live a life

We can climb or drift along


You’ve met all the celebrities

You’ve rubbed shoulders with the stars

But I’ve talked with children

About how we can live on Mars


You’ve never floated down the river

In a state of play

Waving to Japanese fishermen

Passing the time of day


Your experiences aren’t better than mine

And mine aren’t better than yours

We were both in the same building

We just left through different doors.

I have mixed views on poetry. Anyway, the urge struck me after reflecting on how people established in their fields react when I say I’ve been abroad for a long spell. Often, they express admiration, but other times it’s akin to pity. If we all went down the same paths, life would be awfully dull.



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