Part two of my two-poem sequence. Today is the 72nd anniversary of the NHS but this is not about the fabulous individuals who have risked their lives for the last three months. I will however, dedicate it to them and all the other key workers. Let's not forget them as and when this virus fades into the background.
Nursing
It's an old school pub,
cramped, dark wood, no food.
In the corner a man sits,
moulded as one with the wooden
bench. Flat cap welded to his head,
eyes fixed forward. One hand wrapped
around a pint, its head evaporated.
I wonder what wheels are turning
in his ancient mind. What puzzles solved,
what wrongs righted.
He lifts the glass slowly to his mouth,
which moves to meet it. The sip
is slow and shallow and its return journey
to the table breaks no record.
In the opposite corner, another man,
smaller, same cap, same beer. The same
long distance stare. Options run
through my mind but, being English,
all but one are discarded.
I will take my pint to another corner,
nursing it while I wait for the rain
to stop.
Tim Fellows 2020
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