Hope
Anxiety stands on the shoulder of anxiety, on the shoulder of anxiety
on the shoulder of…….
wash my hands
wipe that door handle
scrub that work top
spray, wipe, wash
wipe, wash, spray
wash, spray wipe
repeat
repeat
repeat
repeat ….
busy high street
heart racing
thoughts trying to catch up
a few obeying the rules
others with no face covering
and they are approaching dangerously close
no two-metre space
no one metre, just
too close
heart racing
thoughts close behind
and they, that couple are talking
…… infected droplets, invisible
lingering in the air,
my air
heart racing
thoughts overtake, win
jump into the middle of the road.
Somehow, that seems safer.
My days spent chasing an elusive memory -
Why have I wandered into the kitchen?
Erm!
Where did I put that thing?
Arrrh!
Why am I sitting here at the computer?
Eh?
What did Steve just say?
Um!
What was I just thinking?
Pass!
The world is in mourning
2.5 million dead and rising each day
Mr Hancock is convulsed with laughter on television
Whilst
Mr Johnson, stands babbling like a blithering baboon about a calvary coming over the hill?
Under masked faces
do their eyes identify them, and,
are they
smiling, or scowling
fearsome, or friendly
beautiful, or beastly
satisfied, or sad
fit or frail, and
will they win the battle?
Will we win the battle?
or
Will you?
For me,
aged sixty-five today
a future
will I have one?
Hope seems an unfeasible expectation
dreams of a safe and happy tomorrow, void
no story to tell
afraid to feel hope
afraid to dream
….to feel despair.
just afraid to feel….
anything.
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