Time, that skittish mistress,
Is playing her tricks on me again.
Two weeks now since lockdown,
(At least that’s what I’ve been told);
Disorientation swamps my senses,
My relationship to time
Is completely out of whack.
What day of the week is it?
Groundhog Day of course!
All the normal indicators
That would help me compute,
Like football on a Saturday,
Are no longer available to me.
Every day now is Sunday
And Wednesday
And Friday.
No longer can I put my
Absentmindedness
Down to a senior moment.
Time appears to stand still
And drags its feet,
But then appears to sprint away,
So fast I cannot keep up.
I am still half expecting to
Step into a coffee shop
Whenever the impulse takes me.
Yet, at other times, it is hard
To remember the time
Before our lives changed.
“Back in the day” no longer means
Decades, but just three weeks ago.
But then there is another,
More positive, aspect to this;
Those of us not engaged
In essential work,
Suddenly, confined to our homes,
Find ourselves with time on our hands.
A time for breathing,
A time for thinking,
A time for cleaning –
Our homes and our minds,
A time for learning new skills,
A time for gratitude,
A time for caring
For each other.
Soon enough I suspect,
That time will be gone,
When we may again be the slaves,
Rather than the masters, of time.
Tony Quarrington 