a forty-two inch screen of two
thin glass sheets, colour filters
liquid crystals, an unrelenting
message of doom, interrupted by
a llama looking in someone’s window and
a man in lycra shorts doing push-ups
we bounce around our four walls
yearning for outside
even if it’s raining
wishing we had a big dog that
needed more than one walk
we play endless games of Ludo and
argue over words on a scrabble board
it’s a microscopic tyrant
who holds our freedom to ransom
no white flags of truce to
discuss terms of surrender
no army of enemy troops
setting siege to castle walls
just a dry, rasping cough
not designed to be confined
the law flouters meet in the park
sharing a box of Marlboro Gold
the slightly deflated ball they kick around
reflects their slightly deflated mood
someone behind twitched curtains clipes
the police give them marching orders
hope is the last thing to die
now it breathes through a ventilator
the Dunkirk spirit flails and
not even the llama can rescue it
but wait…there's a promise
God will have pity on our ruins
the wilderness will blossom again
He opens a window to a
fresh morning breeze
(Isaiah 51:3)
(Isaiah 51:3)
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