Poetry by Ben Macnair


It was the year of seven day weekends,
of new hobbies,
and old friendships.
New hair styles, all looking like Hippies,
but without the music or the free-love
of the first time.
No new clothes,
and the places you bought them from,
are all shutting down.
The year of abandoned change,
of examining the carpet,
and reading the papers
for something happier.

The year of stilted conversations
with neighbours that have served
the same year long sentence
in the same long street.
The year of Johnson and Trump.
Of Coronavirus and virus deniers.
Of truth tellers and blatant liars.
Of clapping in the streets.
Banging pans, singing songs.
Of podcasts and Hollywood stars singing
John Lennon.

This has been the year of the weathering.
Of anxiety and zoom meetings.
Empty pubs.
Silent Theatres and cinema.
A year of no bad first dates.
A year of no good first dates.
A year with no official education,
but self learning, self care,
Mindfulness.
Spiralisers.
New language learnt.
Silent roads,
Little traffic,
Empty trains.
Of Amazon taking even more from the High Street,
bought to its knees,
This has been the year of the Weathering,
We will be different as a result of it,
More patient, more humane.
Hopefully what we have faced this year,
Will prepare us for the future,
Whatever that might be.

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