The Film I’d Like to Make

In a way, nothing happens – that’s the point:
a few friends gather, chat, drink, share a joint.
In the evening, as though carelessly, they stroll
through fields where, in their youth, they’d pair off – though
not with the one they’re now with.  
                                                        And then they go

back into town for their Monday morning jobs.
No deaths. No splitting up. No angry sobs.
But you know, as they silently unlock
what they call home, deep down another door
has opened, which they’ve yet to close once more.

Tom Vaughan

If you have any thoughts on this poem, Tom Vaughan  would be pleased to hear them.