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Tuesday Poem: The Seven Stations of Isolation

First there was eating:
I ate as though the shops would still be open tomorrow
and the day after.
I ate a whole tin of tuna in one go
poured Baileys in my coffee
opened the box of shortbread I’d been keeping
for an ‘occasion’
and ate it all in 2 days.

Secondly there was sloth:
a large mammal in pyjamas
that transferred itself slowly from bed to sofa
to the fridge and back, on a loop.
Its hair grew down into its eyes
and its thoughts were like the fog
that blurs the horizon in the morning.

This was followed by up-skilling:
video conferencing, learning Japanese,
baking opera cakes and brioche,
making masks from T-shirts.

I had not expected the dreams:
as frantic as reality,
colossal, multi-coloured.
They burned through the brain
in the viral desert of the bed.

Then there was temperature taking:
and cough analysis
and learning the 111 website by heart.

We were allowed walking and I walked with rage and grief
for the bodies in refrigerated trucks
for the medics without gowns or masks
for the ministers in their s…

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