Ponder

My evenings,

Quiet and dreary,

Spent, with a book

In my hand

That I hardly read;

A whisky glass on the table,

Waiting for a refill,

Aren’t momentous;

I cannot talk about them

Painlessly.

Ennui struck,

I pick up my laptop

To play with,

Steady my mind,

And record my thoughts

Such as these words

Portray.

Not wise words, I say.