phoebe st. john

fresh air

We will never again have fresh air
So don’t tell me that
There is a future to fight for
Love to cling on to, summers to chase
A life stained by disease
Remember what lies ahead
Confined to four white walls, we must
Crumple on the hardwood floors
Sing farewells to a hollowed room
For in this plague we cannot
See rainbows outside windowpanes
Slurp ice cream off a sweaty hand
Kiss lovers by broken candlelight
Dance wild in technicolour dens
Clink glasses held by best of friends
Pulse to the throb of a football crowd
Coo at babies on a crowded train
As each day passes, we will again
Strap masks across our hungry mouths
Hang from windows to clap the carers
Run metres away from the nearest heart
Find eggs as if scoring bars of gold
Touch loved ones through a screen
Wait to hear from the top
It’s all for nothing so
We cannot truly believe that
We are part of something more.

(now read from bottom to top)

© Phoebe St. John

Phoebe St. John is an Australian media lawyer and freelance writer based in South London.