This poem was written with a particular story in mind, one I heard from a volunteer I work with in our community’s response the lockdown. We’ve been lucky so far in ColGlen I think, but it staggers me how stupid some folks can be, particularly those who think ‘they know better’ than the full weight of scientific consensus.
Tinfoil
At dusk I stood at his gate,
His sanitizer in my hand,
A greeting stuttering
On my lips as he crossed
The head of my shadow
And entered Covid range.
I stepped away into the lane
My hands warding against him,
And my penumbra pursuing
His steps, until a bramble
Bit my neck.”You are sweet”
He said, “but this we do not need.”
Later, collar soaked in water,
Hands washed to Dion, tongue
Whetted with Jarl, I explained
The fear this gentle man provoked –
With his jaunts South, his weekend guests,
The tinfoil hat of his credulity.