Mask 2020

BEN FAIRLIGHT

Swimming in a mid-September sea

I dipped my head under, daringly,

Then shook my chill-mangled mop like a dog

To wring out London and its modern smog

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Of covid.

Twisting to a streaky pink-white sky

I float-watched one lone vapour trail die

And kicked my shoe-strangled toes like petals

Sprung from their bud, like steam from a kettle’s

Whistle lid.

Diving at last, I passed a shoal

Of silver-and-black-banded mackerel

And shaken was I by their spangled panic

For their scales were black with a patchy pandemic

Of gill masks.

Glancing goadingly at me, one said quite fishily:

“Why’s your face so clear uncovered? Can’t you see

We have no shoal-immunity?” Thus I

Was wrangled back up to the dry, clean washed out by

An evening’s bask.


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https://www.hastingsindependentpress.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/literature.jpghttps://www.hastingsindependentpress.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/literature.jpgHIPPoetryMask 2020 BEN FAIRLIGHT Swimming in a mid-September sea I dipped my head under, daringly, Then shook my chill-mangled mop like a dog To wring out London and its modern smog Of covid. Twisting to a streaky pink-white sky I float-watched one lone vapour trail die And kicked my shoe-strangled toes like petals Sprung from their bud, like steam...The Hastings & St Leonards non-profit community newspaper