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the global village sharing rank;
a plague on all our houses, homes,
our well-being no better dressed.
Our greeting now olecranon,
a process of hail fellow joint,
though also place to catch the cough –
as well our armoury two faced.
Repeat the happy birthday song,
as alcohol breaks covid’s skin;
the viral spread some fakery,
no longer urban myth on-line.
Graced are the stadia, with airs,
the current flow, with streams to breathe,
except the team in quarantine,
so bar is free to percolate.
Plane ailerons lie, taking rest,
and ferries salute Charon’s route,
while more than Styx and stones are thrown
to trip the steps, fantastic light.
Isolated become the norm
both business small and table tops,
the metric measure for our feet,
separate soles keep us on toes.
The masks a front pretending safe,
deceiving us with covered nose,
while empty supermarket shelves
leads panic to protect our stocks.
This checkpoint for our boundaries,
strict curfew on shared risks in life
shows testing times reveal true state,
community risks friends or fate?
Stephen Kingsnorth (Cambridge M.A., English and Religious Studies), retired to Wales from ministry in the Methodist Church, has had pieces accepted by over a dozen on-line poetry sites, including Sparks of Calliope; and Gold Dust, The Seventh Quarry, The Dawntreader, Foxtrot Uniform Poetry Magazines, and Vita Brevis Anthology. His website is Poetry Kingsnorth.
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