So, here I am, with Covid, (sub-variant B, Deltacron.)
after two whole years of avoiding it like.... well, the plague.
And how to capture it in words?
I’m like a wombat-catcher with a big net.
I know there are wombats in there, squarely blocking the neural pathways,
but when I find their entrances, they’ve gone.
All that is there, is this :-
An indefinable heaviness of fog in the head.
An undrunken hangover in the brain. Coffee unthinkable, drinks undrinkable.
Smokey whiffs of light paranoia, and outbreaks of sadness
like drifting weather fronts across the sky of the inner cranium.
A vague feeling of invasion by something ‘other’.
Tendrils of weariness, urges to lie down with hot water-bottles.
Overall absence of a sense of taste, or colour in the palette of life generally,
contrasting with a strong instinct to eat ice cream
from a huge silver bucket, with a long spoon,
just for the slip-sliding of chills down the epiglottis.
A gripping fatigue at the sight of a tax return form, an oil bill
or the Traffic Awareness Speeding Penalty Course on Zoom.
A frisson of arthritis through unexpected joints.
A dullness like a gloved punch in the lower spine.
A muted tingling tinnitus in the ears. A dryness in the mouth.
A lassitude in the legs. They say that covid reduces brainpower by 5%.
Well, I only had 5% left anyway…
But apart from that I am fine… no worse than a cold, as they say.

Thank god for the vaccines, those clever little pricks!.

Mary Lister 

If you have any thoughts on this poem, Mary Lister  would be pleased to hear them.