Wish My Kids Were Home [revised] Poem by Margaret Alice Second

I don’t understand it, worked up great enthusiasm
yesterday, attended a meeting, found two people
from another section who didn’t know Pratchett,
felt obliged to enact ‘Good Omens’ for them –
affected excitement doing voices to illustrate how

The Angel at Paradise’s gate cringed when the
Snake asked him about the flaming sword, the
Angel admitted he gave it to Adam and Eve –
they looked so forlorn, he said, I told them how
Devil Boy loved this world so much he refused

To let The Four Horsemen, or ‘bikers’ in modern
parlance, destroy it – oh, and how my colleagues
laughed at the scenario – but tonight, arising from
suffocating under too many blankets, no fervour
or excitement left, wishing my kids were home

Instead of camping in the cold…