The Splendour of My Isolation

(Cito longe fugeas et tarde redeas)

I don’t want to go to Portugal

I don’t want to go to Greece

I’ve already been to the south of France

It wasn’t very nice in Nice

I don’t want to fly on an aeroplane 

Breathing recycled Ryanair

Passengers with masks on their foreheads

Mr Ryan doesn’t seem to care

I don’t need a holiday in the sun

There’s paella and moussaka right here

Greggs do those tasty little custard tarts

Better than in Albufeira

You say there’s so much out in the world to see

But I can watch Attenborough on TV

In the splendour of my isolation

I hear young people want to party

They’re hiring mansions on Airbnb

Three hundred people listening to Harry Styles

Necking alcopops and DMT

I’m happy here in the kitchen

Bluetooth headphones on

Warren Zevon and Carlsberg Special

Dancing with myself till dawn

I don’t need to meet other people

I don’t feel the need to connect 

I get all my food delivered

Don’t even have to click and collect

I don’t want a kiss and I don’t want a hug

I don’t want your respiratory bugs

I’ll breathe easy in the splendour

Of my isolation

Copyright Tom Morton 2020