lovers rush seeking shelter
lovers rush seeking shelter
a pause to reflect
it was here that fate pushed me
I’d to cross a bridge
n.b. Time and tide and all that. Choices, decisions, life goes on.
Here’s white light, no heat
Heaven’s lights will shine bright tonight
In this brilliant galaxy
how will you hear
the star that calls to you?
Is there any room
For one more on top? I ask
If not, I will walk
n.b. As a ten year old travelling to school I learned that the rush hour bus was often crowded, if not full. Walking on to the next stop, or even the one after next, meant that I had at least tried to change something for when the next bus came along.
It was usually raining.
How many days would
you expect a friend to wait
before warning you?
n.b. Thanks, mate. Three days is a long stretch to have to wait before letting on you have symptoms of a notifiable disease to someone who you last saw four days ago. How dare you take decisions on my behalf about my health and the health of my friends and family! How do you know what the risk is; who I plan to meet; how effective physical distancing actually is if asymptomatic? I would have made different decisions had you been kind enough to let me know. I hope you get better soon. My asymptomatic test results are due tomorrow.
A junction is not
the end of our journey, but
it’s decision time
n.b. Drive carefully, btw.
Reverse gently? Three-point turn?
Hand-brake turn? Plough on?
p.s. Or ditch the car and walk.
Great fun while it lasts
Until there’s only room for one
Then you’ll know the truth
What delights await?
Sun bright outside, boxes in
Day spoilt for choices
We had enjoyed the fish and chips
With a glass of white wine
Our meal only slightly tainted by the whiff of corona virus, Covid-19 in the air
The sterile formica tables and clinical strip-lighting
Could not protect our conversation from being infected
Along with eighty percent of those about us
With the impending sense of gloom
So we jumped in the car and set off for a bar
Turned down a side street and came to a halt
A man lying in the road, rolling in a puddle, perhaps of his own making
Unable to get any leverage, to even get close to vertical
‘Is he ill?’ I asked, “Very drunk” my brother warned
“Are you alright, mate?” I offered as an opener
I handed the speechless man the carton of cigarettes from the floor, “Here, I’ll help you up.”
I gripped the shoulders of his jacket
Braced my legs, heaved him to his feet
He came up off the tarmac like a bag of grain
Surprisingly, with ease, he weighed nothing
He made left, I steered him right
So he might use the wall away from traffic
To lead him on, steady himself, slow his next fall
He wanted to shake my hand, make contact
Recognise the help I’d given
I patted him on the arm
“Take care of yourself” I called
As he repeated his unseeing thanks
Stumbling on as we drove off
Our social distance under-scored
n.b. Social distancing is the phrase being used to describe how citizens of the UK should interact, i.e. no closer than arm‘s length to reduce the likelihood of catching Covid-19 from an infected person.
This is not to be confused with getting too close to people of the lower classes, such as the voting public, as practised by Old Etonians on assuming high office, such as Her Majesty’s Prime Minister.
If I see someone laid out in the road, I have a choice. I’ll decide.