no title, just a mood

I feel sick
came home
picked tomatoes
half ripened
and remaining so
in October's megre
offerings of sun

Shut the french doors
flick on lights
and laptop

and I think think think
what to do
to dodge this
sinking gulp
of acidic despair
descending
upon me?

I have mod cons
a twenty
in this
siren-audible
city suburb
basement flat

But none will suffice
for all I want
is a field and a fire
and a peace of quiet