Losing touch

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‘I’m tired.’

‘You’re always saying that.’

‘But I am.’

‘Really? Is that what’s really going on?’

‘I don’t know where to turn.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I went into a bookshop the other day, lovely display of poetry, and I hadn’t heard of a single one of the books. Not one. OK, maybe one, off Twitter. But none of the others. I think I’m losing touch.’

‘You were never in touch.’

‘Thanks!’

‘Seriously.’

‘I am being serious. A few years ago I thought I knew what was going on. Now it’s just. Everything! I heard a friend reading a poem the other day. Never heard of the poet. Or their book. I went home and Googled them. Turns out they were shortlisted for something. And I follow them on Twitter! Either I haven’t been paying attention, or I’ve been paying attention to too much.’

‘You were never in touch.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Seriously. Don’t mention it,’ the book says.

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