Before the comet

Waiting for the comet that everyone is talking about.
The one six light years away with a 15,000 kilometre long tail.
The one that won’t be seen for another million years.
Filling in dead twilight time waiting.
Having eaten mussels for dinner, each of them with brown rubbery protrusions that looked like tiny snake heads.
Thinking of poem topics:
My Best Date Ever.
The Man Who Sits On A Mobility Scooter Waving At People.
When Friendship Ends.
Etc.
All what you'd find in the creative writing section of school English exams.
Trying to choose between a glass of wine, laundry or a walk on Red Beach.
Dull, dead twilight time and twilight choices that would smell like a musty room and taste of floury apples.
Failing to make decisions.
Killing time that has already passed away.
All of this before the comet, which will make this time and these deliberations seem even smaller.