Lockdown on a summer’s day

14 Dec 2020 | Poetry

Cruellest April makes way for marvellous May
mixing the memory, distorting the desire.
For God has played his hand,
shuffling a shipwreck of confusion
with a sardonic smile,
Lockdown meets longing.

In the woods outside, the bluebells
have bled their joy. And now the buttercups
wave a yellow flag,
to signal that disease is on board.

Meantime, inside the sterile house
the President purrs his ironic lines
“Just you. Just me” as the saxophone
scratches a comma in a sentence without clarity.

T. S. Eliot and Lester Young make
a heady concoction, a disparate wasteland
of connection in the storm.
And I say to God: you discharge your anger
with a mischievous twist.
What now? And for your next trick?

Written 2020