The Sneeze from John Cozen's House

As I walk down
Gloucester Lane
Towards the park
I'm starting to look
Like Poor Ben Gunn
With my unkempt beard
And faded brown shoes
My dear departed Grandfather
Used to wear
Is my voice
Hoarse or awkward
Like a rusty padlock?
I'm weary of metaphors
Each time I walk outside
All I can seem to hear are sneezes
I listen to one
I'm sure it's coming
From John Cozen's House
A few moments later
I'm sneezing also
As does a man
Not so far away from me
Are we washing
Our hands with soap
And water often?
Shit
I had no tissue or sleeve
To cover my mouth
And nose with when I sneezed!
I watch a mother playing games
With her young son
Beautiful
Enjoying the sunshine
He waves at me
From the distance
With his tiny right hand
I lower my head and sigh
Fighting back the welling tears
From behind my eyes




Bristol, April 2020