I might as well live in Timbuktu
As far as I am – from me to you.
I might as well live in San Salvador
Confined to sofas and stuck indoors.
I might as well live in Kaula Lumpur
Dreaming of dancing away til four,
Or even til two, but now,
I might as well live in Timbuktu.
I might as well live in Chelyabinsk
Counting my spoons, not sleeping a wink.
I might as well live in Lilongwe
Waking up tired, body aching all day.
I might as well live in Santa Fe
Wondering what words of comfort you’d say,
Or even what you’d think, but still
I might as well live in Chelyabinsk.
I might as well live in sunny Adelaide
Watching, on-line, the life you have made.
I might as well live in Waikiki
Seeing pics of your kids, and your silly selfies.
I might as well live in Trincomalee
My link to the world, limited. virtually
To words, typed, not said, but then
I might as well live in Adelaide.
I might live next door or a few stops away
Missing our talks, our stories, our everyday.
I could live down the road or the very next street
Remembering all of the times when we could just meet
And have an adventure, make memories, feel free;
Doing what we like, not worried about my energy.
But, now, I live a different truth.
(To you) I might as well live in Timbuktu.
There is only so much rhyming poetry you can read before the rhythm gets you!
The above poem whilst may be sad is, to me, more of a love letter to all my friends that have stuck with me through the many last minute cancellations and turned down invitations. Timbuktu, is a not very subtle reference to what the Victorian poets such as Tennyson would consider a far-flung and exotic locale, obviously, not like I, in possession of Google Maps.