Nothing much - the final cut

'Tis done. I have taken advice, cogitated and revised accordingly. I hereby declare this poem finished!

Nothing much

Look how quiet the room is: a cat
whiskers behind sunlit curtains
for spiders; noses cold rice
from a plate in search of meat.

Shadows shoal the tank, each a life
behind the green scum growing
on the glass. Tide rings in the mug
mark a consumption of coffee.

You activate me remotely, the song
of the phone triggering animation,
audio smiles and shrugs as we chat
for a while about nothing much at all.

(and if anyone thinks it could do with a bit of tweaking - I Ain't Listening!)