I’m sitting here comfortably, sipping my tea,
Watching the sway of the neighbour’s gum tree.
I’m not getting shot. I have no foot rot.
The kids are at day care, I’m working from home;
The hours tick by like a hushed metronome.
I’m not in a pit of man-meat and shit.
The jasmine is starting to bloom in the yard,
Festooned with soft silk on which spiders stand guard.
No homeward-bent yearning. No buildings are burning.
The beds are all made and the washing is done,
The peg-puckered towels wave like flags in the sun.
My stumps haven’t bled. My friends aren’t all dead.