Poem 77- Characters in foreign lands

Characters in foreign lands

It’s a different time there in your habitat
As far as I know you could be in a
Pagoda, or an igloo (which would be
Fun) or a house… on stilts
You could be painting or sleeping or
Smelling a flower only native to
Your back garden

I put my hand up to this picture
And refill it with more plausible
Options. The house I saw out of the corner of the screen, the flat we
Passed the evening in, the house you signaled
With your hand as we drove past
That night when it was cold enough
For there to be frost on the edges of the
Windows, or the small house at the back of the block, that you don’t
Really live in because you haven’t lived
At home for years

I raise my hand again and place
You all in a myriad of scenarios in my life
And you all fit in all the places
I have newly prescribed for you
I have this suspicion, though, that none of you would fit in all of them.
You might not fit as my friends and I discuss the implementation
Of a new campaign, or a night on the
Sofa in my living room eating recently purchased
Sweets and chocolates, you might not
Fit at the theatre, talking about my poems, music, films. You may not fit even if you are clever or handsome or nice or you like
Dancing sometimes and you don’t mind when I sing in the street
And now I am worried none of these fractured pieces will
Fit together even with the magic of dreamland and I don’t know
If I am awake enough to know
Or check the validity of any
Of this