By Rosy Wood-Bevan
Lockdown Love
Your laugh is infectious
if you get too close.
My touch is dangerous
and there is no dose
of medicine that will cure us
of this lockdown love
So please leave me here in self-isolation,
this only lonely remedy,
this heady desperation.
Though coronavirus
may not inspire us
our lockdown love
will save us all
It’s breathless claustrophobia
in this brave new dystopia.
Don’t hold my hand,
getting physical is banned.
Our temperatures are soaring.
We’ve caught something alluring,
and there is no curing
this lockdown love
So please leave me here in self-isolation,
this only lonely remedy,
this heady desperation.
Though coronavirus
may not inspire us
our lockdown love
will save us all
Covid-19
has tied me to my screen.
It’s the distance keeps us keen
and the software makes us scream.
It’s a feverish romance,
a tantalising online dance,
frenetically advancing
this Lockdown Love.
So please leave me here in self-isolation,
this only lonely remedy,
this heady desperation.
Though coronavirus
may not inspire us
our lockdown love
is almost enough
We keep all our devices charged.
Our broadband width is much enlarged.
The fire of my wi-fi is to die for,
but should our wiring expire
or our networks disconnect
our virus will survive unchecked.
There’ll be no disinfecting
our Lockdown Love
So please leave me here in self-isolation,
this only lonely remedy
this heady desperation.
Though coronavirus
may not inspire us,
our lockdown love
will save us all.
For Lockdown Love there’s no vaccine,
so keep us here in quarantine!
Your on-screen smile is photogenic,
enough to launch a world pandemic.
We can’t elope – they’ve shut Las Vegas.
We keep up hope, though we’re Contagious.
This lock down love
it keeps us ageless
So please leave me here in self-isolation
this only lonely remedy
this heady desperation.
Though coronavirus
may not inspire us
our lockdown love
will save us all
Yes, our Lockdown, Breakdown, Meltdown Love,
our Lockdown Love will save us all
No Super-hero
I am no super-hero
I fly with neither cape nor angel wings,
nor sport a hollow halo.
I must dive without gills or fins,
spluttering under,
a broken snorkel.
Here, where no-one can breathe,
only machines sigh monotonously
in the swimming light.
This is my job.
I do not work for a charity
but a public institution,
a hospital, the NHS.
I do not want a medal, a badge or a fly-past,
just protection and proper pay.
You give me sentimental praise.
I show you the facts.
My frog-eyes blink at death
daily through layers of transparency.
You show me opacity of vision
And smile optimistic figures.
I watch whilst time crumbles
and frays and falls away.
You offer false deadlines
and hope to fast food chains.
Somewhere distant,
above the surface
of this induced coma,
clapping and drumming and gongs
constellate a carnival
bursting with colour & community enthusiasm.
You cynically enlist
the authenticity
of public applause and philanthropy
to call my profession a ‘cause’.
You speak of honour and sacrifice and courage.
Disingenuous.
Your mask slips.
Mine arrived late.
We are both unequipped.
After this
it’ll be gloves off.
I live overlooking the sea in Swansea and am by day a psychotherapist, by night a some-time poet, performing at local open-Mic nights and now on Zoom!
‘Lockdown Love’ is a light-hearted look at one aspect of the Pandemic from the perspective of imaginary, separated lovers. ‘No super-hero’ addresses the seriousness of the situation and is inspired by an article written by a doctor, deeply critical of Boris Johnson’s ill-judged razzamatazz, and is also a response to the experience of one of my daughters who worked for an exhausting year during the height of the pandemic, in a frantically busy pharmacy.