Been the toughest three weeks in a while;
from previous memory there’s rarely more
than a few days despairing ever seeing an
end to th’ damned viral pestilence, but not
on this occasion, a theme we’ve begun to
view as accruals of ageing, & ungratefully
we might add; altho’ raging about it won’t
change anything; isn’t like it once was or
we’ve become easy targets to fey strains
specifically mutating upon the over 60’s -
So we slow pace, engage in sit and wait -
mediate a piece accepting it as it is, and
for what it is, recognise these symptoms
as soberest rationalisations possible in a
no-win situation where we fall foul easily
& well short of its line’s sombre breadth,
and yet there is no comfort in doing right
when little death’s of once ‘unassailable’
privileges pall and freeze in ill-humoured
atmospheres of incredulousness
Why doesn’t it go away when it’s run its
damned course is the tacit interrogation
inciting us to muted antipathy - leave us
be when you’ve conquered all the weak
and lame in an unassailable victory; we
would like nothing better than a slice of
our lives back, less the headaches and
phlegm-invested coughing-bouts; same
is said by all in shamelessly dreading a
case of this afterlife’s patent oligarchy
© 31 July 2014, I. D. Carswell
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