Locked down in the Manshed 5. A poem by Eamonn Fitzgerald

So I cut the hair
(Lockdown locks down)
Had to go back to work.
Kept washing the hands
And wore out the mask.
But my ears are sore
And my glasses fogged
In the crowded aisles.
We’re it together
Two meters apart.
Wish I was still
In the ManShed.


I own a Manshed where I make stuff and think about stuff.

1 Comment

  1. Good work! check out my PanApocalypse tiny play posted 7/25/20!

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