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.
