I don’t care about your driveway or your recliner
You only serve to make me sad
As you prattle on about your cold bathroom floor
Your Land Rover voice command not working
I can only sit here, out of respect
Though
In the back of my mind
Where I go in times like these
There’s a nice fire, a lamp, there’s a chair and a window
I listen to El Campanella and watch the snow fall
She’s there too, reading Don Quixote I think
You, and your pettiness, are far away
Being seized upon by vultures and hyenas