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Arthur Abrahamson Poem
Friendship in a Covid world. (C) Arthur Abrahamson January 2021
My Facebook friends photo stares back at me from the blue tinted screen
A 13 -year-old photograph, the hint of a smile, looking cool looking mean
What do you look like now I wonder, older?wiser? angrier? calmer?
Prematurely aged perhaps by life’s little dramas.
“You can choose your friends but not your relations” an often repeated mantra from my father
who was as right as he was contrary.
Our real friendships oil the wheels of our lives with friends, lovers, husbands and wives,
they age with us and care about us as they would a sister or brother, we are their cherished sibling
unattached by blood.
My Facebook friends are regimented on my screen like dissolute soldiers in various stages
of readiness about to march onto some unknown battleground far away in the ether.
They have funny names Krafty Q,,Lucy Luck, Donald mouse and Mickey duck,
Send me a PM they say but I’m not Whats apping today, I won’t get back to you right away.
Face-to-face in real time I can see the glint in my friends eye, a sudden smile chased from their
face as the conversation moves on again,
Real friends can see my gain, my loss, my joy, my hurt my pain
They ring me at unexpected times, we chat, we sigh, we laugh and cry they’re familiar voices
provide a source of comfort to me like an old favourite jumper I’ve worn for years.
We chat about the highs and lows of our times together, telling each other cherished jokes and
stories that are the markers in our coveted relationship.
They are real, they are the people, although not always seen, who are there in spirit to turn to
when I’m emotionally bereft, or lose a loved one to a Covid death,
They, who I move towards when I need a cuddle when life at home becomes a muddle.
A wall of silent photos on my computer screen I have 396 Facebook friends,
I’ve only ever met 22 the rest are silent never ageing, still in particular poses
I much prefer my real friends who I can see to embrace and hold when this horror closes.
Copyright © Arthur Abrahamson | Year Posted 2021
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Details |
Arthur Abrahamson Poem
We both know where the red lines are the social etiquette of unsaid things that we must observe,
the physical boundaries of social distancing that we cannot pass through create emotional mountains in our lives.
On the rare occasions we are alone, ostensibly, on a daily walk away from prying ears and eyes, we talk affectionately and garrulously like mountain streams colliding as they chatter down the hill.
We both know where the red lines are, both Covid and matrimonial.
We are each other’s “special friend” walking occasionally together so as not to arouse suspicion or gossip in our small community.
We walk our well worn route around path and fields through the woods dripping in the rain.
The social distancing barriers we cannot cross and the emotional ones that we will not cross for fear of discovery, hurt and upset.
We talk our small talk, family and mutual friends, past lovers but secretly, we wish our conversations were deeper more personal, more joyous in this sad world
Our feelings half expressed as we try and plot our way through this pandemic driven relationship but cannot navigate it comfortably.
The things we wish to say, the endearments and desires remain unsaid straitjacketed by both our long-standing relationships and fears,
We sit on our favourite bench 2 metres apart looking across the world ahead recognising our mutual sadness.
Our distress manipulates our feelings and magnifies the emotional Nomansland that the red lines that we observe have created.
Copyright © Arthur Abrahamson | Year Posted 2021
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