Minimalist poet, minimalist lifestyle

Since I signed up to register for the Telephone Preference Service I've noticed that I'm now receiving far fewer unwanted telemarketing calls. This is a relief because it was getting really annoying being disturbed by up to half a dozen calls a day; the silent ones being the most annoying of all.

LATER HOME

Arrivals and departures
Already bored with nowhere to go
(Nothing to do with me)
Been everywhere, done everything
Worn out the tee shirt.

Sitting, cupped in plastic
Cupping plastic in my hands
Steaming hot tea; patience.

An hour to kill
On timetables and notices
Of weekend engineering work:
Why don't don't they hang poetry,
Or poets here?

The train's late
And I've just realised
I'm the only one alone here;
Everyone escorts their shadow home -
I curse my empty flat
Which will still be empty
When I get back home.

Stitches of conversations
Hold the seconds together
Make the passage of time linear;
A paperback novel, embossed cover
On the inside pages I take cover
Behind the wrong cue.

I watched a very interesting documentary on TV last night, presented by the newsreader Michael Buerk entitled 'What Are Men For?' The simple premise of the programme was that the whole of society, family, work, culture and, from his point of view in particular, the media, has become feminised, leaving men merely existing as nothing more than 'optional extras' in many circumstances.

A woman gains status and recognition in society by being the person she actually is; mother, wife, daughter, homemaker, carer, even an object of desire [yes].

However, a man is perceived by others by what he achieves, what job he does, how wealthy he is and what material possessions he can flaunt.

Of course, I'm an unemployed man...in fact, not just unemployed, I've never had a [paid] job due to the total collapse of the local economy when I was looking for my first job as a school-leaver...you can imagine how these personal circumstances have ruined my life.

At the moment being male isn't easy; as a man I don't know what is expected from me by society and what I'm supposed to do.

DANDELION

One small insect
On the launchpad;
How much further to
The stars from here?