Beyond my kitchen window, grey skies
crumble like clinker over empty fields.
The scarlet willow bends in the easterly,
branches stripped naked like veins.
Crows smudge charcoal on the horizon.
Indoors, I inhale recycled air and open
my liquid crystal display. Your face bubbles
expectantly, cornered. Behind you double
doors slide shut, a TV grumbles. You hold
a Bugs Bunny mug that asks, ‘What’s up Doc?’
This hideous pandemic has clearly shown that the earth and humanity are interconnected and dependent on each other for survival. Different nations, animals, plants, the climate – we all need each other. There is no room for selfishness, cheap nationalism and bigotry. The World Wide Web is not just on the internet but everywhere.
Babushka kept a pig in the bathtub
while the Red Army raided barns
and larders enforcing Holodomor.
Outside on the Kiev streets bloated
stick bodies staggered, staining snow
-drifts like squashed bluebottles.
The children named the pig Binka
against their mother’s warnings.
Come slaughter day they waited
on the balcony with scarves tight
round their ears but the screams
rang loud and their tears froze.
The British three day week; fish, chips
by candlelight. I strutted my hot pants
to Bowie and Bolan on Pirate Radio;
sniggered when Papa built secret shelves
inside the chimney breast to hide tins
of flour, sugar, rice, pasta and preserves.
The year of Covid 19; I empty bookcases,
arrange tins of beans, soup, fruit and tuna.
Lockdown. I stare out at an empty street
counting down every wavering heartbeat.