Out of Touch and The Untouchables. Two poems by Anne Gilmore

Out Of Touch

In half light the faceless, misty-eyed
flow along robotic chevroned lanes.
Latex fingers pluck uniform cans
of this, that and whatever.
Muted musak gives way to trolley wheels
their dry scraping grinding on nerves.

In suburbia HUV’s stand sentinel
on monobloc driveways.
Children, free from blue light education,
enclosed in trampolines
Bounce the day away, bounce, bounce, bounce.
Stopping in wonder when a small
yellow plane cuts across a clear, blue sky.

In Westminster a blind man sits in front of a book case.
Dishevelled, he smears a chocolate stain across
his mustard waistcoat, ivory silk lapels.
Fingers grope in desperation, searching
For a magic bullet while he chants his mantra:
We are strong and stable, strong and stable, stay alert!

In half light the faceless, misty-eyed
flow along robotic, chevroned lanes.
Fear beads their brows,
palpable and persistent.
The dread of infection
Fills their everyday.


The Untouchables

Walls of weeping tenements face
driving rain as dejected neighbours
await the snake of black limos.
Heads bowed, silhouettes of mourning, they stand
in silence
Furloughed friends waiting to honour, respect.

United in untouching grief
mourners at metred distance sit
in churches or crematoria
cocooned in sadness,
yearning to soothe or be soothed
to hold or be held.

A last few measured words
a hymn or song
and curtains drawn
they return to a locked down world
scarred and broken:
they will not forget.


Bio & Link
I write to clear my head and frequently use everyday situations and events as poetry prompts. I started writing poetry about 4 yours ago and find it challenges me to discipline an otherwise busy mind.

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