Panache For Social Barbecues

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Not yet expressed my frustration
at being here, a prisoner, locked
up in this holiday resort, the wind
chasing us off the beach, hubby
refuses to barbecue in communal
proximity, refuses to visit a novelty
nursery

Found a second-hand book to read,
badly written, meaningless stuff, a
parody of war and war-time heroes
all stoned and high, unwilling to be
brave, bearing no message except
life is useless and boring, war does
not offer

Adventure or fun, clearly indicating
only fools would waste their time
reading this, I prefer hubby’s run-
ner’s magazine and travelogues;
without a fantasy to lift me out of
the feeling of being inappropriate
and ridiculous

Must hide my depression as best I
might, no challenge, no adventure,
no excitement, no interest, even
a horrible letter to the president
complaining that people breathe
too much oxygen, is better than
this

Oh, how I lament not being blessed
with the hedonistic, happy gene that
enables people to lie in the sun all
day long, swim in a hot-water pool,
play games, prepare dishes with the
necessary panache for social
barbecues...
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