Back then I felt not just alone,

But zombified, off on my own

In an indifferent alien world:

That sting from seeing! flags unfurled,

Sunbrellas raised for dining out,

Flesh-baring garb for slim and stout,

Laughs loudly laughed, lips boldly kissed

In public, no thought to what is missed

By bereft viewers (such as me) —

On people went, with brutal glee

Caressed their kids, paired hand in hand

Enjoyed full lives in their fair land

Unshadowed by grim sense of loss

Thrilled by new greens of leaves and moss

The moist pink buds on blooming trees

The black and gold of springtime bees—

A world one might, some day, return to?

Hateful though its joy had seemed, you

Realize, now, that world's not there.

If you recover, you won't dare

To walk the street without a mask

Or venture out to do some task

Without your virus status card

To show the brisk Corona guard

You'll be forbidden to embrace

But still your stupid too-moist face

Will have to be available

For fever checks, not when you will

But when a stranger makes the call

You'll have to stand there by the wall

Submit to the thermometer

And smile, and say, "no, thank you, sir!"

And even though you will comply

Your neighbour wants to see you die

Perhaps? even in some pleasant village

Without locked doors or fears of pillage

Threat still is lurking, behind the smile,

Beneath a mask of homemade style,

Or helicopters flying high

Then downed, despite the calm blue sky,

Or elsewhere...nothing's safe, and so

It doesn't matter where you go.

You feel the knowledge slowly dawn:

That pretty, silly world — all gone,

Just when you thought to venture out,

Trying to live, new fears, hate, doubt

From this new world, keen to keep clean

And no one knows what that will mean.

We may regret even sad days

Of lonely walks to cheap cafés.

Of unplanned outings at a whim

Uncovered face and naked limb

Of seeing more than strangers' eyes

In rearview we may learn to prize

A world we shunned in angry sorrow

But thought we could embrace tomorrow.

Beyond my windows blossoms bright

Emerge from swollen buds, the tight

Green bursts, just as in gentler years —

Even through glass, this soothes some fears

Despite ironic skies of blue

Spring's beauty isn't what I rue

Its hues and fragrance are a balm

I find I still go briefly calm

As new life thrusts up through hard ground

Not that the horror's quelled or drowned

By hearing birds, or that first bee

But finding that I can be free

From dread and shame, though not for long . . .

The dire sense that all's gone wrong

Must soon return — still, if springtime can

Arrest, engage, for some brief span,

Fill up this frantic brain of mine —

That's not a gift that I'll decline.