Lockdown

I wrote a poem called 'Lockdown'.  Apparently the poet laureate did, too, so that's not very original. He published his last week, though; so much quicker off the mark than me. But then he's poet laureate. 

Lockdown

The thermometer thrives in the fruit bowl. 

It has moved from the anonymity

of the bathroom cupboard and has new status.

There’s daily disorder while the new world 

order works itself out. What is essential?

Narrowing of horizons on all sides;

as the requisite distance further widens.

We find new fulcrums on which to pivot.

Lines are marked out for us to stand behind,

that were not there before. Along the line 

much is online and that line must be toed.

Solidarity gestures remotely 

jostle with unhealthy suspicion of 

strangers given wide berths. WhatsApp, on tap, 

alerts to the communal carers’ clap.

The pace of change has infected us all.

A nation’s febricity rises into

unsettling peace. I reach for an apple.

Ted Gooda

March 2020

Currently reading: Reading Poetry by Tom Furniss and Michael Bath

(Which is what has prompted today's burst of creativity.)