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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