We have not inhaled deeply In the longest time Obsessed with our breath Vacuum packed potential inflammation Sealed when the short black procession Passes
Creations
#44
Now that the vulnerable are encased In conservatories or kitchen cupboards The circle on the green, the football pitch, Divided by a garden fence, grows Until we hum a consensus that Manslaughter is fine as long as there's No push of the knife As long as we don't know we've done it
#43
Tangled in crackling laughter We are not gathering Just fraternising across the aisle These confessions given Metres apart while passing The time of day
#42
The colour run Of the rainbows Does not dampen The adoration For the sacrificing Front line So we stop for them Momentarily Not only when The well meaning Have prescribed we do But between Unpacking the shopping Or drying our hair A trickle of a thought Enters that any one Of us could be struck Down as easily as a knat By a raindrop
#41
When the rain arrives We cross the road Without looking Lock a glance into Wrinkled eyes that Peep out from behind Spectacles 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 Unchanged 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
