Lockdown Travel Diary, Poetry


When the rain arrives
We cross the road
Without looking
Lock a glance into
Wrinkled eyes that
Peep out from behind
Over masks
Under hoods
With scarves which spill
Down to hands 
Encased in reused 
Latex-free sagging gloves
Clutching shopping
On the way back from
A leg ulcer redressing

The lower deck of the bus
Is for them 
And remains
But upstairs is emptied

Of the midday gin can drinker
Goading her despairing
Children just to make 
Her mate laugh 
They claim she took their
Chocolate buttons
No they are not here today
They are behind a door
Behind a door
A door

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