And when the rain fell.
Those inside watched.
Afraid to walk on the
the borders of green things.
They held each
other’s hands tight
and dressed in their
Sunday clothes.
Ready to make
a TikTok video.
While waiting for the
protocols to change.
Brain-smashed and
stir-fried together.
They dreamed of
the old county.
And mama’s homemade
cheese cake.
While outside the rain fell,
dissipating into
isolation and loneliness.
But the TikTok
numbers are high.
And free range
is no longer hip
Now can we go
out and play.
A Wandering Poet 