Covid Reflections

I am lucky.

I’m not a supermarket worker.

I don’t drive a delivery van

Or a bus

Or a train.

I don’t work 12 hour shifts

With inadequate PPE

on A&E

or ITU

or in a care home

I’m not old

Or ill

Or immunocompromised.

I’ve not stared into terrified eyes

And whispered final farewells via WhatsApp.

I’ve lost no loved ones

Or grieved at scaled back funerals.

So I am lucky.

I know I am lucky.

I am lucky to have children

And a granddaughter

To miss for weeks

And then months.

I am lucky to have friends

To eventually meet outside

But not to hug.

I am lucky to be jabbed

Three times now

Tho I’m still not immune.

I am lucky that the pubs are open again

And the restaurants

And the shops

And the hairdressers

Tho I still don’t go.

I am lucky to have government figures

So easy to view.

I used to make my own graphs

Of the cases

And the deaths

Till the numbers got so big

That the lines shot off right off the top

Of my A4 graph paper.

I used to keep a journal

Writing it all down

Thinking it would be history one day.

But it got boring.

And so sad

The days all the same.

Or just getting worse.

And all the while I was being this lucky,

Others were luckier still

Meeting in dappled sunlight

(And not just the once)

In a garden

Of a leafy London Street

With friends

(So many of them)

And colleagues

And babies

And drinks

And smelly Cheese

Tho the cheese of course

Was the least of the stinks.

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