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.
