While we were sleeping they were still awake.
While we were hiding they were in the light.
The cold dark angel passing over us
left nothing but the flutter of its wings.
We huddled in our places, locked from sight
each waiting for the hush that daylight brings.
So empty out the squares and thoroughfares,
make criminal the handshake and embrace.
There is no other future except this:
the bolted door, the window and the face;
all of our journeys cancelled or delayed —
and if we meet we cough instead of kiss.
When all of this is over we’ll creep out
astonished by the new world they have made.

Mexburgh resident Ian Parks runs Read to Write in Doncaster. 21st-century Poetry is edited by Andy Croft, email [email protected].