A lockdown poem

A quick visit from the Muse yesterday morning and here's a lockdown poem.

Dawn on Day 61

Half-awake in half-light

To listen for the half-heard cry

That could be real until

The portcullis drops again.

Rigid, sharp, and full of holes.

No child is sleeping here.

And so the latest day’s

Unanalysed unease resolves

Into the dull, familiar ache of

Our phantom limbs.