Friars, Glynllifon and the Halfway
The past is a foreign country
So they say.
A flickering of sunlight on the other side of the Strait,
where the grass was greener, the scene was cooler,
and the lads more knowing.
Flying back from the past – do I need to quarantine?
Will the symptoms pass?
I take my place in the queue.
Will I be next?
This poem was prompted by the death of a man the same age as me whom I hadn’t seen for thirty-five years. As is the way when you’re a teenager, I knew who he was from afar, but I didn’t really know him.
Written in August 2020, the constraints and consequences of the Covid-19 pandemic have been uppermost in my thoughts for months.
The photo is of Wil Jones ©Gary Stubbs 1980, used with permission.
Words ©Susan Walton 2020.