Unlocked

Unlocked

Dropped off with  mobility scooter

 doors opened for me

in the corridor of muted colours,

my guide.

Masks or smiles,

distorted greetings.

Hand gel and thermometers,

lift doors open

to another empty temple.

An echo of a staged performance

without the audience

I settle in a chair.

I’m linked to a drip.

More bloods are taken.

I wait.

I know now how to wait:

the watcher from the chair

A stream of nurses pass to stock trolleys,

with a strange dearth of patients.

I try to disengage from the

grip of anxiety low in my stomach.

I read a book whose title I’ve forgotten.

I text family to reassure them.

I want it to be over.

Finally it is.

I leave in a flourish of hand gel.

Should I have gone? 

For an infusion to prevent cancer?

A hospital visit my only contact with the outside.

My lockdown release,

an incalculable risk benefit

Then I notice the wind in my hair,

the on my face.

Odd glimpses into others lives,

Small boys learning cricket with Dads.

Blossom bursting from colourful gardens.

Kindness from passerby’s,

smiles as we weave a safe path

The Castle in the distance settles me.

It has seen so much.

This too will pass.

I turn into our drive way.

The evening sun calls to us,

‘Join me’ 

So we do.