Life After Death
I am uneasy now in the places where I used to walk.
I no longer emerge from my home to meet my friends
in those open spaces,
or hug them
or share a coffee
even though the cafes are open now.
The ground has sickened
where the men in white suits sprayed disinfectant
over streets and beaches to stem its diseased flow
and I have sickened with it.
But still I’m alive to the sounds of spring
rising from the decay and death of winter.
Still I’m alive to the prospect of summer
when the fertilised ground shows the life
that death has bestowed on it and blooms.
I’m going home now
feeling happy.
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