Solitude

It seems that I’m a Wanted Man, though posters there are none.
But, as a husband and a dad, my tasks are never done.
It starts before I leave work – I get texts upon my phone:
“Get some milk”, “Pick me up”; I think I need a clone.

I love my wife, my kids and cat, but they are a bit demanding;
I’ve got to fix a toilet seat and paint the stairs and landing.
Our bedroom door’s all squeaky and the kitchen shelves are sagging;
The printer wants new toner and the PC needs defragging.

“Look at my dance!”, “Watch this clip!”, “Take me into town!”
“Can you go upstairs, my sweet, and take the curtains down?”
The cat’s meow adds to the list and I look down at my puss;
I’ve fed him twice, played hide and seek and still he wants a fuss.

I guess that I could stay up late, playing on the ‘puter:
A hero on a tricky quest in a fun first person shooter…
(But a six AM alarm is hard when you’re up ’til daft o’clock;
So I’d rather get an early night than risk that nasty shock).

There is one place that I can go to find some solitude;
The door is locked and I relax, no-one can now intrude.
Out of sight means out of mind; it seems that it’s true:
The only ‘me time’ that I get is reading on the loo.

 

Written for a poetry competition on the subject of solitude, 3 March 2016