Late April Dream (Part 1)

The window is open.

Boris is calling me, visiting.

The birds are singing.

I have been dreaming about writing a poem about the virus,

Another streamed poem from my head,

Writing about the virus.

I have been writing it for a long time, in my dreams.

Don’t wake up.

Don’t wake up!

 

Wife tries to wake me up by asking, “What time is it?”

I refuse to speak.

She insists it must be 10 o clock,

Because every day starts late,

And no one wants to get up early.

I have no work in the mornings,

And no one on our road seems to even go to work!

Is that because of the virus crisis,

Or is that the reality of the economy?

Sluggish retired people in their homes, isolating,

Venturing out but once a day, for walks with the dog,

Or a major expedition to a shop,

To stand in the socially distanced queue,

and be marshalled like cattle by some young shop assistant,

acting security guard, managing the people.

Some people wear masks,

They know where to get the trolleys and spray wipe the handles with paper towels,

Circling the yard at a distance,

While the sun smiles on all of us.

But in the shop it’s not so busy.

They are keeping the numbers down.

 

I have woken myself up,

by finally agreeing to write some of my poem down.

But when I wake up my words will not be the same

as those which were in my head when I was asleep.

Keep up the rhythm of the writing,

Then you cannot lose your dream,

Even though you must be awake now.

 

I went to the toilet after my wife spoke,

And when I came back to bed I laid my head on a padded pillow,

So I could write at the same time as lying down,

And I wrote down as much as I could remember of the dream,

Although it has changed totally from what was actually in my dream.

 

Dreams are elusive, and you can never keep them.

They are all about the virus times,

Now we are living in the times of the virus.

The news is all about the virus,

And life has changed for many.