A Crown for Lockdown: Part Two

4.

The epidemic spreads and swells and grows.

We track its progress daily on the news.

We watch as pubs and restaurants start to close.

We’re glad we’re not in those poor people’s shoes.

We sanitise and wash our hands much more.

We monitor our son. He does the same.

We don’t pop out as often as before.

You work from home. We’re ahead of the game.

We pride ourselves on being so aware,

And yet it takes us both some time to note

How breathless you get, climbing up the stairs,

How frequently you need to clear your throat.

“It’s only asthma. Nothing more,” you wheeze.

A strange new prayer. Let it be asthma. Please.

5.

That strange new prayer: “Let it be asthma please.”

Your breath grows more laborious each day.

The symptoms don’t quite fit this new disease,

And yet they’re there. And they won’t go away.

We’re gripped, now, by the briefings that announce

The R-rates of infection, and the deaths.

The rattle in your chest grows more pronounced,

You’re struggling to even catch your breath.

You tell me it’s the pollen count, that’s all,

But one week later still it hasn’t gone.

Our local doctor cannot take your call.

Reluctantly, you phone up one-one-one.

The disembodied voice says, “I suggest,

As a precaution, you should get a test.”

6.

As a precaution, then, you get the test,

In Todmorden*, one Sunday afternoon.

Then straight back home to sit around and rest

And wait for the result, which will come “soon”.

In truth, we didn’t sit for long at all,

But soon returned to office life routines –

The emailed query and the urgent call,

The tapping keyboards and the glowing screens.

We text and Team, we Whatsapp, Skype and Zoom,

Our son has work on SeeSaw to complete.

We have the luxury of separate rooms,

But still get under one another’s feet.

We isolate within the nine to five

And batten down the hatches to survive.

7.

We batten down the hatches to survive

And use the past to hide our present fears;

We dwell upon the friends who helped us thrive

Through social interactions down the years.

The parties, the communal country walks,

The cafes and the bars where we would meet,

The gigs and clubs, the readings and the talks,

Those demonstrations outside Downing Street.

The flats and houses that we used to share,

The gatherings that took place in one space,

A world when friends could physically be there

And facetime meant a literal face-to-face.

Just nights out, with the gang, the girls, the blokes;

That water-cooler moment, swapping jokes.

*Todmorden is a small market town, on the border between the counties of West Yorkshire and Lancashire, in the north of England. They genuinely had armed forces, possibly reservists, running a drive-through testing centre in the car park of the Covid-closed leisure centre in the summer of 2020.