Pandemia
Coming in to land you used to pick out memories
poking through fog. nothing flies anymore
but electric bees chop months into neat tablets – now: easier to swallow!
the prime minister’s replaced my lightbulb
at long last, turning all reds into grey.
i see bars on white walls, blue skies
on houses i cannot visit.
i sit among words like a toddler
in dungarees, my motor skills (what a strange term)
too clumsy. a tower lies in chunks.
will anyone come if i bawl?
Oliver Cable