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Waterloo
Peterloo
portaloo
no can do
in Manchester
Liverpool
Newcastle
Nottingham too
no can do
dead man's shoes
dead man's hand
do the right thing
you and all
hands face space
waste of space
new rules for scrubbed old hands
I'll try to remember
but feels like I'm back
in work or school
Eat Out to Help Out
aka Eat Out to Help The Virus
I was there too
I took the money
I dined at that trough
like everything else
masks constantly evolve
from the Lone Ranger
to the werewolf
from PPE
to mandatory wear
whilst enjoying the retail experience
to the jaundiced faces
of our corrupt politicians
first they wanted to save the NHS
now the mission is to save Christmas
but let’s get through this Halloween first
as the country closes its doors again
the leaves mulch and the light weakens
and the ghosts come back
to interrupted conversations
those things we wish we’d said
Flop
flip flop
from one bad decision
one delay to the next
no fillip fulfilled
but flopped enough
flimsy filleted conscience
flame grilled ideation
sears the nation
flannel fans
the sidelined fans
the tarts and flans
the dollops lollop
unable to gallop
the plumped up
propped up plops
that rule rather than govern
glib guff
guilt gripped
gulped
ending griped
top hat toffs
lop off that lot
lorded and loafed
yet levelled little
you're having a laugh
One two three tier lockdowns
in a two tier country
the second wave
a two tier cake
for the Great British Bake Off
the Great British Shut Down
tier suggesting structure
when none is present
Covidspeak
curve and peak
hands face space
test and trace
fear and inequality
cases and capacity
untruths and nepotism
loss and pessimism
please don't speak Covid to me
I'm just waiting for a vaccine
waiting for another year
better than this one
for the next TV presentation
by the scientists
with all the gravitas
of a wartime broadcast
of grown-ups telling us
the worst of news
the maps and graphs
different colours
different shades
sliding slideshows
the climbing lines
out of our minds with unease
the creep of a disease
over land and through the air
A masked ball
coverings of many colours
patterns and materials
those beautiful surgical gowns
social distance dancing
move those hips
waltz away regrets
trance into herd immunity
as the local lowdowns creep closer
more local
be vocal about your future
your survival
dance on my lovely
what will be will be
hold my hand and promise
to keep your balance
try not to slip up
in the ballroom of spores
Edge of an armada
liminal keels
keening over the bay
on a fateful day
limping blooded
wasped by frigates
and hawk-faced wreckers
trying to get away
invasion doesn't always reward
though this is not our fight
this is our day
and for this you will pay
your cannons fall silent
spiked by salt water
to the depths you dive
to the mystery of our bay
I am looking out for a comet
but I am distracted by
what could be a fox
maybe only its eyes
or a suggestion of movement
one is never alone in the dark
a moon illuminated tree
at the edge of a field
bales of hay
hedges
reeds
in sharp relief
(I see the moon
the moon sees me)
that way they ask where we were
what we were doing
and who we were with on 09/11
the day that Princess Diana died
or when the first lunar landing
was broadcast
the graininess of our discoveries
on trembling flickering screens
do people of different times
recognise the changing face
of the moon altered
as everything and everyone is
by contact with irresistible objects?
did it look the same to human observers
one hundred
one thousand
one million years ago?
and do we look as they used to?
Are locksmiths key workers?
is the curve flattened yet?
is it flat as I understand flat to be?
will I feel any different?
and what about people who
had been cooped up for months
in tiny flats?
my father died the month before the lockdown
feels like a hundred years ago
that man
in a spring and summer of national mourning
what should we do?
let's plant a new arboretum of remembrance
with statues of nurses
doctors
delivery drivers
supermarket staff
carers
postal workers
my father
I'll lay a posy of daffodils at his feet
and dig my spade into the flinty mud
of his settling grave
how much blame will the politicians
seek to allocate to others ?
all of it I imagine
they have not impressed
but then I have always been underwhelmed
by the privileged especially when in power
their inability to relate to the poor
to the everyday needs of everyday citizens
nothing changes just avenues
of revolving doors containing
grinning hyenas in morning suits
always pretending to give
impoverished people a chance
as they are further impoverishing them
please don’t forget these times
though they are concerning
though they are frightening
and likely to remain so for a time
though we lost many people on the way
don’t ever forget what happened
what some had to go through
don’t forget about us
don’t forget about me
and the key workers
who became locksmiths
trying to free up the logjam
our lives had flowed into
Outside little moves
save for divorced foxes
corner-of-eye birds
and abandoned face masks
breathing in a confident breeze
indoors TVs cover walls
broadcasting shows
of people who used to be famous
for being used to be famous
but he's safe here he thinks
high above the plain
of the Great Pandemic
the lifts still work
he doesn't remember the last time
he travelled in them
though each Friday he waits
at the gaping shaft
for food parcels from the charity
whose appeals fall on his deaf ears
charity begins and stays at home
he disposes of his waste in bags
that plummet to a ridge of refuse
hundreds of feet below
putrefying as the scavengers
consume what can be digested
he hasn't paid a bill for some time
but no one is collecting the rent
in the mid distance of his binoculars
giant cacti impale curious virus-finches
on their honed horned armoury
the TVs only offer repeats these days
his favourites are complete football matches
in empty stadia with added crowd noise
among the few times
he hasn't heard racist taunts
at such so-called sporting events
these repeats
these repeats
these repeats
these repeats
