In 2021, perhaps graduations won’t be called off,

Maybe nurses will have a holiday and

You wont wonder each time you cough…

“Does that sound dry and continuous to you?”

“No, it’s probably not Covid, you’ve got a runny nose too.”

In 2021, maybe the masks will go away,

The Christmas lights will go up,

Santa will resume his business, bundled up, in his sleigh.

We won’t stand on driveways clapping for doctors,

While someone’s world is falling apart,

We won’t say ‘unprecedented’ when we know that really it could’ve been better from the start.

Next year Boris might resign, accept the fate he callously sealed,

He’ll walk out the door of number ten,

The NHS will have the power – and the funding – to heal.

A teenage boy will kiss his crush, round the back of the bike sheds once more,

Worried about what his friends will say, not the fear

Of a fatal virus knocking at Nan’s door.

You’ll sleep easy, knowing bills can be paid,

Rent is covered, jobs are safe,

And twenty somethings can go and get laid…

Worry about the morning after pill or a hangover like no other,

About late nights and graduate roles,

Not about whether they can hold their mother.

Maybe then the vulnerable and alone won’t feel like they’ve been forgotten,

Your diabetic dad, asthmatic sister,

Won’t be left behind by a government consumed by greed so rotten.

We’ll go back to moaning about the weather,

Or shout at the football scores.

Because we will be standing together,

And I’ll be able to hold your hand once more.

Maybe next year we will see things change,

Vera’s lyrics will ring true,

But for now, we wait and listen to The Pogues,

Next year will be for me and you.

Photo Courtesy of Annie Spratt

Categories: Editor, Poetry