Not quite yet a teen
Quivering with fear,
Cocked and loaded shotgun
Kept quite near.
Mixed expression of joy
And angst on my face
Listening to Jet, Mitch and Doc
On their Journey Into Space.
(All Rudely disturbed by
A matriarchal hand
Of a worried mum
Who didn't understand
And appreciate my fear
And fetched me a clout
Across one ear.)
Oh, You can keep your theatre
With its uncomfortable seat,
Rattling of sweetie papers,
And constant shuffling feet,
No, Give me the radio
Every single day
My medium of choice
For listening to a play.
The characters seem
More convincing I find,
The pictures are more vivid,
When produced in the mind.
No disappointment of the player
Not fitting the one they portray
No disappointment at
The setting of the play.
We create our own reality
In the comfort of our lair
Safe and warm and secure
No unnecessary distractions there.
Of course, these days being older.
I no longer need a 12 bore
Cocked and loaded and ready
And pointed at the door.
