Spread
I have the measure of my man.
He squats, half-comic, underground,
Cross-legged in protective gown,
With all his hatches battened down.
Inside his bunker with a phone,
The disinfectant sloshing round,
He must believe he is alone.
He thinks he is immune;
He thinks I’ll go away.
The truth will dawn quite soon;
He will not last the day.
He cannot see me; no one can.
I have the measure of my man.
Stephen Gospage
Tue 1st Dec 2020 16:49
Thanks, Paul, and to Stephen and J.D. for the likes. I remember a ballet I saw many years ago in Copenhagen, where, confronted by a plague, the master of the house ends up wrapping himself in plastic and standing under a shower of disinfectant. Not exactly Swan Lake, but memorable.