What ye doin wi yersel?
After watchin billy Connolly and the artist from the isles
After watchin Russel t Davies in mumbles
After watchin Blues play Leicester city
After going to bed
After, After, After.
After sleeping
After getting up
After playing no2 in the bowls triples
After going tae bed with a snotty nose
After, After, After
After a wee dram.
In – flew- enza.
Another early winter morning
Throat scratchy, head full of cold
Nose and sinuses stuffed before streaming
One dramatic sneeze after another.
A single sensor garden light
Beams it’s triangle of illumination
Out of darkness, from the Bark of the tree,
Over dormant winter bushes.
Pull back the duvet to trudge to the kitchen
To empty the last cold relief
Powder potion, topped
With a dollop of honey and boiling water
Outside the early morning drivers
Flash past beyond the tall everlasting
Evergreens that survive the cold viruses
Year after year
Pandemic Working From Home recedes
Cars, buses, bikes and trains
Carry well people to their workplaces
They pump god knows what into the morning air.
The kettle transforms electricity into boiling water that
Melts the honey and disappears it into the yellow powder
That may soothe the throat to begin the day.
Why do poems appear with illnesses?
