The corona man

When we lived in Lakenham,
which had just avoided the bombs,
the corona man came week by week, with his fizzy crate,
his Dandelion and Burdock
and his sustainable, esoteric bottles

He did not keep his distance
and he did not wear a mask:
there may have been contact when we paid him,
and his lorry was not electric,
not even hybrid

At that time, not long after the war,
such things were normal: 
there was no testing,
and there were no lockdowns – 
our house was open to everyone

We did not go to the cinema 
or to the pub:
we were Free Church,
and we believed in prayer

We did not dance

Now when the corona comes
we hide in the cellar,
or we would if we had one, 
and we do not go 
where other people might dance

Twenty-first century corona
has lost its taste
and its appeal:
I suppose that’s normal

We still go to church
but it’s not the same:
the Communion wine 
is untouchable, and 
not at all fizzy