What a weird time to be alive

my old neighbour kept saying

news hounding like an air raid

siren I press my face up against

the warmest chunk of wall asking

if he needs any new supplies I’m

here too I whisper turning the news

down turning my phone on shaking

the fridge saying hang in there little

buddy we’re all a bit emptier now

watching the rice creep inside black

sanitise my last plant keeping each

window shut mum forget the garden

today let April look after us – news

bulletins say it’s on the up 45 says

he’s on the up tonight we’ll sleep

inside our rubber mirrors waving

at each other through cracked

screens and paper masks like kids

who jumped the gates loneliness

needs us now more than ever

the lady upstairs I know she’s

there her babies too nobody here

has seen the ground in weeks in

months we’ll still be running

This poem was published in the New Statesman