5am.
The sky is ebony. I am awake.
I’m calm and yet a little wired.
I did not have a dream…
I am not scared.
By mid-day I’ll be tired.

The Virus on the Radio…
Pandemics Plagues and Vaccinations
They speak of all of that…
An endless spiel of information.

Yet little is revealed.

How close is a Pandemic death?
They cannot save the hippo or giraffe.
They cannot save the tiger or the snake….
Erase the Global Tyrants on this earth.

Why should they conquer this ?

5.30am…
Half dreaming now… the Abhainn Dé,
Is raging over rocks…A small black dog
Is carried down the river swift and fast.
It’s caught and tangled on a branch.
I lean to grab it’s scraggy nape…

I do not catch it..

6am
The time is vague.
The radio …why don’t I chuck it?
Pandemics. Vaccinations. Plagues.
My mind is now a misty haze;
I’m in and out of rivers flowing fast.

It’s choppy waters.

6.30am
Toast. tea and one boiled egg.
I like to think the small black dog
Is swept onto the bank.
It is alive… but limping on one leg.

I am deluded.

Kristine Byrne. 28th Nov. 2020