In a local church hall we wait, with fellow
ancients, for our first Pfizer vaccination.
Ours is a generation that has received,
since childhood, the blessings of technology
and science. Though the glitter ball
is stationary and the stage curtains drawn
there are shades still of dancing and pantomimes –
and, in the observation tent outside,
the fifteen minutes is quite jolly,
definitely determined. We humans are
social animals, prone to good causes.
We drive home in warm, tawny sunlight.
“A lovely day!” you say. “Please sing the song!”
I urge, and you do. ‘This is my lovely day.
This is the day I shall remember
the day I’m dying…’ And, tearful, I see you,
in the chorus, when we were students,
more than half a century ago.