My Virus Till; She Flinches. . .


S T O R I E S   I N   T H E   T I M E   O F   A   P A N D E M I C

in  D I S S E N T I E N T




P A U L   S . L .   B R O O K E S



On my till

an old lady flinches when I

hand her change.

Boss is stockpiling anti-bac wipes.

Wash your hands as often as you can

as money is the dirtiest of things.

Anti-bac wipe your touch screen,

and where folk lift up the fridge doors,

and the price strips.

Toilet rolls are disappearing.

It dissipates the virus,

while it rests on other surfaces.

Folk avoid public bannisters,

walk down the middle.

That old woman’s flinch

Stays in the mind.







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