Beyond the pale, these frontier folk,
except, that front both moved and changed,
just as the daily weather map,
whether a high or low approach.
My front has isolation glaze,
bow window pain, a fender bend.
And closer home the mask of gauze
trussed over zygomatic arch
supported ears, hide nose and mouth,
but Covid ball invades the masque.
Would that were so the carer staff,
protected from the viral spread –
fake news abundant, spin for sale,
ramped up, and soon, no later than,
as meaningless right now as then.
Soldiers on foot in leading line,
direction from the general back;
the bodies lie around the field,
but M.O.s number more than fair,
share-croppers in the soil they till.
Stephen Kingsnorth (Cambridge M.A., English & Religious Studies), retired to Wales, from ministry in the Methodist Church, has had pieces accepted by some twenty on-line poetry sites including Poetry Potion; and Gold Dust, The Seventh Quarry, The Dawntreader, Foxtrot Uniform Poetry Magazines, Vita Brevis Anthology ‘Pain & Renewal’ & Fly on the Wall Press ‘Identity’.