Poetry: In the end

From the archive, written in the early days of the Covid-19 pandemic in April 2020. Location: Vauxhall, London.

In the end,
will we be grateful
for the birdsong,
the lie-ins and
early nights?

The sense that
we are not individuals
but a society of
carers, lovers
and quiz champions

wrapped up in
the glory of another
frozen pizza.
Deliveroo and
dancing, badly,

shared with your
world of three
hundred fans,
friends and family.
Don’t forget to tag me-

I’ve forgotten
another birthday,
forgive me.
We’ll catch up
for real, soon.

I can picture
bluebells and
the aching arms
of the cherry
blossom trees,

soaked in sunlight,
waving over the
hospital walls
to nurses in
sapphire uniforms.

I hear music;
voices united in song
and read headlines
that give people

Another record,
it’s a record
for the oldest
number one.
Happy birthday Tom.

Happy birthday Mum,
I hope the flowers
arrived, boxed
and bright and

I’ll see you soon,
‘We’ll Meet Again’
in a new world,
one with
clearer air

and a brighter sky.
Do you really
need to fly
and shop
and buy

or can it wait,
can you

and be grateful
for the blossoms
and the birds
and the lie-ins
and just stop

to think that
in the end,
aren’t we all so
lucky to have

%d bloggers like this: