Featured poem

Coronavirus

Maurice Rutherford

 

I’m now grown old, and have no hair to comb,

no wife to chide me when I fall asleep.

The over-seventies should stay at home,

we’re told. I’m in my nineties – in them deep,

so where does that place me? Should I be caged,

handcuffed and ostracized for having aged?

Please watch the Covid updates on TV

and warn me of the fate in store for me.

Illustration © Jeannie Clarke