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CORONAVIRUS BAG
PART TWO
‘They said they thought it wasn’t safe!’
my husband told me, and I blenched.
Me, unclean? Me, carrying the virus?
I hadn’t just returned, not taken That Cruise,
How could they think–but it’s just asthma!
Suddenly I knew how Typhoid Mary felt.
Suspicion made me a danger even at home.
In upset and dismay, my eye
fell on my cheery yellow bag,
lying on its innocent side
there by the pool.
And one repeated motif struck me now:
with the force of a blow:
a nimbus of spikes about a central core,
with droplets on each spike.
This pretty drawing now seemed ominous,
as if my bag had marked me out.
‘J’accuse!’ it whispered loudly.
And suddenly the sunshine felt too bright,
the shadows darkened and leant forward
to remind me that I was mortal too,
quite as much as the ants I nudge aside
or carelessly flush down the drain
when they find the pantry honey again.
It’s taken time for me to learn
to like my yellow bag once more.
It’s still the same, most useful in the rain
to guard my goods from dangerous drops.
But I never see it now without a glance
to check the corona-shapes have not somehow
multiplied or morphed unseen by me
into the pretty killers
striding through our human world
creating such a panic, striking such terror
that wolves come forth
and howl in our streets again.
PART TWO
‘They said they thought it wasn’t safe!’
my husband told me, and I blenched.
Me, unclean? Me, carrying the virus?
I hadn’t just returned, not taken That Cruise,
How could they think–but it’s just asthma!
Suddenly I knew how Typhoid Mary felt.
Suspicion made me a danger even at home.
In upset and dismay, my eye
fell on my cheery yellow bag,
lying on its innocent side
there by the pool.
And one repeated motif struck me now:
with the force of a blow:
a nimbus of spikes about a central core,
with droplets on each spike.
This pretty drawing now seemed ominous,
as if my bag had marked me out.
‘J’accuse!’ it whispered loudly.
And suddenly the sunshine felt too bright,
the shadows darkened and leant forward
to remind me that I was mortal too,
quite as much as the ants I nudge aside
or carelessly flush down the drain
when they find the pantry honey again.
It’s taken time for me to learn
to like my yellow bag once more.
It’s still the same, most useful in the rain
to guard my goods from dangerous drops.
But I never see it now without a glance
to check the corona-shapes have not somehow
multiplied or morphed unseen by me
into the pretty killers
striding through our human world
creating such a panic, striking such terror
that wolves come forth
and howl in our streets again.