Still, Awaiting the Thaw

Pre-mobile standing, status yet,

stuck fast in winter’s plodding past,

unsure how to thaw my own steps,

move onto one more further stage.

That first move is the obstacle,

lifting my soul to somewhere new,

as roaming never my strong suit,

feet firmly rooted on sure ground,

connected line, home number stamped.

So, should you ask, next port of call,

I’d answer back, if only knew,

for I not launched yet - phone a friend -

this landline, like an ancient ley,

quite beyond reach, two feet away.

So here I am in sculpted stance,

heel, neither toe in country dance

while I’m expected in an hour,

to play the fool in arabesque,

a screentest with my feet aligned.

It is not easy, stuck in groove,

my homespun vinyl turned bluetooth.