Self-Isolation – Alter Ego. A poem by Sue Kinsella

I hate to self-isolate – so blah. A chat, entertainment – in this time of modern warfare, that’s what I need. I will call to your house, my party friend, put you at ease. Ring the bell, invite myself in. We shall tear up the boredom together. Your elderly father and young daughters must feel so frightened. Offer me a seat, I will lean in for a chat, hold their hands tight. Watch while I natter about how good it feels to be well. Laugh out loud. Wipe the tears from my eyes. Put my hand to my mouth – bl ock a silly persistent cough. I’m in that healthy category don ’t you know. ‘And oh God,’ I’ll say, ‘ha don’t make me laugh again.’ I won’t be contained. ‘Did you hear? Those people down the road fell over each-other quite literally. Corona germ spreaders to their neighbours. Is it a bit cold?’ I’ll ask. ‘Hazmat suits along our strip – did you ever think? Oh, those poor, wonderful, hospital staff – how could they be so reckless?’ Then wipe the angry spittle from my lip. Later, I’ll leave your home, reluctant; when you say in a low, strangely stern voice, ‘You’ll have to go. I have to entertain the kids’. As health staff fall; floating stones – swollen with viral overload. I consider how I will have to step on each one to reach recovery when my time comes. Then I – as I am fragile – did I mention?
I who was saved will close myself in. Wash my hands clean.