Pandemic 3am

Three am. The world beyond our doors has become virtual Hospital staff, protected but vulnerable Scrutinisesee-saw medical charts through layers of plastic Stand by the dead, the dying Like guttering candles, Splintered families splutter into grief Bewildered by the speed of a loved ones leaving TVs and I-pads act as anaesthesia Charon's arms are aching, his ferry full to tipping There are no peep holes into the future A man who holidayed in Italy, Is pillaried for bring this plague to his island Nobody queues at stations, airports, bus ranks The gardens are eerily empty Helter Skelters idle in pleasure parks The birds are having a ball For them, lost Eden has happily returned Clean air, only the cats To impinge on their birdy heaven We can't soft pedal our way through this pandemic Sci Fi face masks obscure multitudes, Like Sassoon's' war comrades Floundering their way through gas It is 3am. Fear holds our feet to the fire The Devil's hour. The crematoria are busy Care home residents are feeding the flames Escaping WW2 by the skin of my teeth I am looking into a glass, darkly