Every day this week a man about my age
has walked past my window wearing plum jogging bottoms
and a matching plum hoodie, empty handed.
On his return journey he always has a newspaper
under his right arm, an orange Lucozade under his left
and he nibbles on a packet of Doritos Chilli Heatwave.
I wonder what he does at home all day.
Maybe he potters about tidying up the garden,
practices drawing with fine liners, collects stamps,
fiddles with frayed bits of the carpet with his big toe,
looks at photos of dead loved ones.
Maybe he sits on the sofa counting down the seconds
until he gets his paper, orange Lucozade
and packet of Doritos Chilli Heatwave.

© Carl Burkitt 2020