So . . .

So . . .
Why is it so difficult to remember the days
before they all began to blur together,
the days before the lockdown,
the days before mandated isolations,
the days before we would not go
out to the beach,
out to the nature reserve,
out to lunch,
out to be with friends?

So . . .
Why is it so difficult to remember the days
when we took freedom of movement for granted,
when we took going to the shop unmasked for grated,
when we took being anywhere at any time for granted?

So . . .
Is this some sort of mental or psychological mechanism
to shield us from the challenges
caused by the abridgement to movement,
caused by the rampant running of an indiscriminate virus,
caused by the wondering what life will look like in the future,
or if it is even possible to imagine future any longer
the way it had been before
the knowledge that Covid-19 will not be the only contagion,
the knowledge that our fruits and vegetables harbour microplastics,
the knowledge that our planet is virtually beyond redemption?

So . . .
I sit and ponder
what it used to be like when so much of this was out there,
but I just didn’t realise how bad some of it was,
and that it is getting worse.

Traffic

The sound of traffic
unremitting roar upon the A roads,
incessant rumble over the M roads,
hurtling at speed
east going west returning,
north outgoing south incoming,
long weekends far from the city
taking the noise and crowdedness
trying to convince themselves
travel truly is a respite
a retreat an escape,
from the daily grind of the commute
dawn and dusk
daylight and darkness
into and out of the self-same
urban nightmare
homing to the suburban dream.

The unremitting roar
reminiscent of the sea surrounding,
rumble like incessant rolling thunder,
assaulting the senses,
engines never ceasing
bellowing with more speed
howling for more fuel
have replaced the dinosaurs’
reverberating boom no longer heard,
though for decades now renewed
resounding once again in engines
gulping down the liquid remains
of what once nourished reptilian monsters
to satisfy their insatiable hunger,
which in truth is ours alone
to go farther
get there faster
arrive in greater comfort.

Guzzling the interred remains
of the land titans’ food,
those once great
crushers of primeval forests
and each other under foot,
to sate modernity’s thirst
striping out the forests
making room for yet more
roads to accommodate
the multi-wheeled carriers,
once they the servants
now we the slaves,
roaring unremittingly as the restless sea,
rumbling incessantly as ongoing thunder
constant motion
never silent
always sound and movement,
upon the A roads,
over the M roads,
crisscrossing the land
gobbling up the landscape.
awaiting their inevitable extinction.