Time your walks

for when the tide is out,

the beach to yourself—

and if the sun slips away

when your back is turned,

even better.

Savour the roar of night waves,

the waxing gibbous moon

keeping watch.

 

Play darts on your own in the garage,

the dog watching on at a safe distance.

Yelp in delight when you score

that bullseye.

Dance with the dog.

 

Dance with the dog on a regular basis,

Spotify up full—

thankful for understanding neighbours.

 

Eat fish and chips—

home delivered—

every Friday evening

to support the café

across the road.

Try not to worry

this has become

the highlight

of your week.

 

Take comfort in birds.

Photograph them with your new lens.

Marvel over their exquisite

feather patterns,

their knowing eyes.

Every night before bed

contemplate your slideshow of ‘best birds’—

music for effect;

every bird is a Leunig duck.

 

Take a bag of lemons to the neighbours—

the ones who send text messages

from time to time

to check you’re okay.

When you apologise

for the loud music

they say they haven’t heard it—

but you know they’re lying.

 

Stop and admire

a homing pigeon sitting on a fence

a few doors down

from where you live.

The next day

on your way to buy bread

weep

when you see it on the road,

lifeless,

that plump chest still

angelic white.

 

Watch every French film you can find

on SBS and Stan.

Try not to think about

what you’re missing out on

because the world shut down—

on your one big year.

 

Take your sabbatical anyway.

Realise it’s a trial

for retirement.

 

You could get used to this life.

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