POEM - For Now

FOR NOW

I open my door onto a world
even quieter than usual, still
on my doorstep I can stand and consider
the christmas tree field opposite
hear birds, distant geese,
and the thin thrum of traffic
on the A149, though today
I feel more like a milk bottle, transparent
and clearly resonant with the milk
of a semi-skimmed form of kindness
souring under the stress
of too much information with nowhere to go.
any empathy I hold, floundering
to be enough, not fully matured
or sufficient,
for now
who could hold societies hand whilst it is lost
in the swamp of a new disease? when
everyone’s lives flicker like nervous candles
isolating in their TV rooms,
friendships confined to rectangles on Zoom
the sting appears to be everywhere, except here,
invincible to the invisible
for now.
I think a few voodoo thoughts then retire within
shut my door on the infected world
there is nothing else to do
for now.

Except to imagine
those unnamed casualties
the total unknowns
whose lives are all but clinker
rolling down the steep precipice towards
whatever and wherever the ineffable is
after the lungs filled with fluids
eyes fixed upon bland ceilings, beseeched
their chest to keep heaving, to catch
the last train of breath, these
expired lives
are not just some cold statistic on an elevating line
upon a graph
they are point in time worthy of grief
packaged in bundles, with each private moment
posted on Instagram, XXX
the chained curtain, heavy on the swags, 

framing the lounge window, are pulled too,
shutting out the light of the world, loss
invites memories round for a weak cup of tea
and whatever biscuits they can stomach
for now
relatives cannot cluster
commemorate, recollect or
stare blankly at each other, bewildered,
not knowing quite what to say to the bereaved,
for all this mournful Greek tragedy, in three acts,
is put on hold,
closure will be paused at death,
for now

Stephen Lumb
14/04/2020