Lockdown Poem by Sheena Blackhall

We cannot even walk along the beach
At night, the free sky mocks us.
As does the tide, untrammelled,a healthy pulse,
And the waves, still pummelling the cliff strong shore.

It is summer, the time of flowers, ice cream and kites
Where are the streams of holidaymakers?
Where are the tourists unpacking in hotels?
Windfarms turn and sigh like ghastly scarecrows

We lie in the dark, having worn our carpets thin
On the daily treadmill. Normalcy is only a mirage.
We are seashells, high and dry above the surging sea