Hope

Anxiety stands on the shoulder of anxiety, on the shoulder of anxiety on the shoulder of……. wash my hands wipe that door handle scrub that work top spray, wipe, wash wipe, wash, spray wash, spray wipe repeat repeat repeat repeat …. busy high street heart racing thoughts trying to catch up a few obeying the rules others with no face covering and they are approaching dangerously close no two-metre space no one metre, just too close heart racing thoughts close behind and they, that couple are talking …… infected droplets, invisible lingering in the air, my air heart racing thoughts overtake, win jump into the middle of the road. Somehow, that seems safer. My days spent chasing an elusive memory - Why have I wandered into the kitchen? Erm! Where did I put that thing? Arrrh! Why am I sitting here at the computer? Eh? What did Steve just say? Um! What was I just thinking? Pass! The world is in mourning 2.5 million dead and rising each day Mr Hancock is convulsed with laughter on television Whilst Mr Johnson, stands babbling like a blithering baboon about a calvary coming over the hill? Under masked faces do their eyes identify them, and, are they smiling, or scowling fearsome, or friendly beautiful, or beastly satisfied, or sad fit or frail, and will they win the battle? Will we win the battle? or Will you? For me, aged sixty-five today a future will I have one? Hope seems an unfeasible expectation dreams of a safe and happy tomorrow, void no story to tell afraid to feel hope afraid to dream ….to feel despair. just afraid to feel…. anything.