Sunday 22 March 2020

London, Beta-Testing The Zombie Apocalypse



masked faces on the underground
furtive glances and suspicious stares
rain powdering the pavements with micro-dots
shy pedestrian smiles and downcast eyes..

an elderly man gazes out from his balcony
no-one visits but he has the fresh air
a bird swoops but it drops the worm
a confused squirrel traces itself across a favourite fence..

from another balcony someone waves so he waves back
time-merged circles yarn the ever-looping
another cup of coffee another opening of the fridge
on receiving an awaited text he smiles relieved and replies..

an ambulance pulls away from a drive
someone died of pneumonia ~ someone
nothing unusual but a life perhaps precious to someone has passed
a few neighbours watch from their window..

in the 24-hour grocery a hoarder buys ten noodle snacks
packets of cigarette papers and four chocolates
he sneezes a few times and the grocer laughs and asks
so what have you been sniffing..

a worker leaves a station another strange shift over
a takeaway delivered telekinetically flicks on the t.v
a news presenter eyes of darkness reads wuhan now in lockdown
it's like a pulp-novel..imagine life if that ever happened here..