The question is:
“Are people still collecting
memories, these days?”

"This isolation
isn't bothering me much.”
I say, if I'm asked.

But I’m not sure that’s
true. After hundreds of nights
of dull solitude.

I think each night might
carry a value - of dear,
and unmeasured loss.

Loss of memories
- because they never happened.
How have we all changed?

Now I understand
why dogs get so excited
about going out.

The World is all forlorn
As New Covid is born.
Time to frown,
We are getting locked down.

Vaccine, vaccine, vaccine, vaccine
We hear your cavalry bugle call.
Vaccine, vaccine, vaccine, vaccine
If you don’t work, the writing’s on the wall.

So many dead, it’s hard to bear,
So much menace in the air.
Everyone tired of this stuff,
So many folk having it rough.

One Lockdown was very tough
Having three is more than enough.
Children getting schooled at home
By parents who are on the dole.

Americans fight amongst themselves,
Instead of putting food on the shelves.
Brits have been distracted by Brexit,
Arguably a mistimed exit.

Last March I asked
Will this last a year?
Well the time is coming –
It’s getting near.

That vaccine surely gives us hope
But where’s our second jab?
No more playing rope a dope,
This chance we have to grab.

No jab at all for me,
As I am sixty eight.
I’ll have to wait and see
But am prepared to wait.

Paul Butters

© PB 8\1\2021. First two lines by Norman Stevens.

We’re the crew of the spaceship boring - on a one year mission.
The situation's literally life or death - this isn’t science-fiction.

The crew is an actual family - ideal for such a quest,
but none of us volunteered for this - it’s more like house arrest.

We seek out no adventures, we avoid interaction if we can.
We boldly go absolutely nowhere - isolation is the plan.

Wander into our orbit - we’ll scan you with our sensors.
Our station's sealed to aliens and we don't let any enter.

Our voyage is just symbolic we're not in outer space,
the commission is simple self-sacrifice and it happens at turtle pace.

If you need me I'll be me in my capsule, safe in my virtual void,
sequestered for the greater good and shelved like an unwanted toy.

Justified and ancient thoughts,
deeper than the current media,
as daft and important as thumbing a nose
at those who claim to know better

Much can be drawn in asking
“What time is love?”
or even doctoring the TARDIS.

Makes as much sense
as licking the wind in a pandemic,
I guess

I used to get very annoyed with my mask
each day I’d implore, “Is it too much to ask -
that my glasses don’t steam up when I walk in a shop
or to not have to swallow down buckets of snot?”
But lately my viewpoint has started to waiver
as I discover new uses for this multi-lifesaver
like wiping the grit from my spectacle lenses
or warming my beard when I’m out mending fences.

Then there are subtler means of employ
(I’m not talking about some ***** *** toy)
where this sliver of material,
though appearing unmanly,
has proven itself surprisingly handy.
Only last week, on a long evening walk
I crept into a church round the back of Earls Court
and sat down to the tones of an ***** concerto
that whirled within me like Dante’s Inferno.
Out of the blue I began to cry
emotions stuffed deep inside reached for the sky,
streams gushed forth from each quivering eye lid
I’d not wept so fiercely since being a kid
yet though it did not cover the whole of my face
with my mask pulled high I was
at least,
saved some disgrace.

When this is all over (I promise it will)
hold a thought for how
your mask did fulfill
so many functions,
besides helping you survive
and perhaps carry one in your pocket
to keep the memory alive.

Sorry, mom says I can’t
kiss you - even with grape,
Lysol, safety lipstick  =/

Harsh pandemic facts
and parents stand against us.
What a hazardous waste!