Skimming Stones

I’m completely out of sync with #Napowrimo due to being rudely interrupted by Covid-19 but I think this poem loosely answers the prompt for Day 11 Write a poem about a missed connection (I’ve spun it slightly to the futility of avoiding a connection.

 

Like a stone skimming across the water

we glance together

causing only the faintest ripple on the surface

before pulling apart.

Hidden to the rest of the world

but known to us

forces are already in motion.

Drawn back together

again and again

and again.

The distance between us all the time

narrowing.

Both scared of the inevitable

as the stone breaks the surface

plunging into the depths

sinking,

drowning

in

you.

 

 

** Image by Laura Zombie “Drowning In Love”

 

 

 

The Covid Blues

I’m interrupting Napowrimo prompts today just as Covid has interrupted my schedule. I’ve spent the day drifting in and out of consciousness after taking painkillers which turned out to be incredibly effective at removing hours from my day as well as the pain. Please note – this is absolutely not a criticism of the NHS, Chemists or any supporting staff, they are all super heroes in my book, doing a wonderful and courageous job. However…. 🙂

Covid Blues

 

Sore throat, temperature

followed by dry cough

wheezy days, sleepless nights

feeling “slightly rough”

 

No energy, teary-eyed

coughing all the time

swollen tongue, now mouth ulcers!

whilst defiant – I’m alright!

 

Swollen face, pain in jaw and gums

now earache!

Family insistent

“Call the doctor for goodness’ sake”

 

NHS Online says;

I have the plague

Stay at home, paracetamol

but the pain doesn’t go away

 

Ring 111 to ask for help

“We aren’t medically trained.

Ring the chemist they will know

what pills you should take”

 

The chemist says “Ring the Doc –

antibiotics, you’re infected”

Holding the line once again

“whilst we try to get you connected”

 

The receptionist asks what is wrong

and why you need a Doc?

Finally she puts me through

to rehash the whole damned lot.

 

I pick up my drugs that afternoon

by eight I’m numb and sleeping

The following day I cruise through space

though awake I’m still dreaming

 

I’ll take the antibiotics

to cure the cursed infection

but the painkillers are in the bin

before I fall into addiction.

 

It’s nice to escape from life’s trials

when pain strikes and gives you jip

but opioids aren’t the answer

rather – a British stiff upper lip.

 

 

 

 

Image – This sickness Blues by Aurora Meyer