The new normal
Every day there is a new number. 847, 748, 653.
The toll.
At the little supermarket people queue outside at bollards. Then there was a one-way system. Then there were dividing screens at every till.
At the big supermarket the trolleys are disinfected. The cheery voice on the tannoy says get the SmartShop app to help stop the spread.
There is no pasta and no eggs.
The checkout lady comments on my sister’s birthday card. There is a bee on it. A bee was once trapped in her front room. Don’t they get big?
I see her the next Sunday too. This time she just says ‘How are you coping?’
By the next Sunday I have downloaded the SmartShop app.
There are newspaper headlines like “Before all the restaurants shut...”
We wash our hands and go to the park.
On Thursdays we clap the NHS.
On Sundays I shop.
You are four.
You tell me the queue is because of the Coronavirus.
You tell me we shouldn’t put plastic in the sea because of the Coronavirus.
Sometimes we have ice cream twice a day.
We have poured bottles of vinegar into the sandpit to make volcanoes.
We have been to the underpass to collect a brick you wanted.
You wrap your arm around my neck and we read the same three books at night.
You know your cues and we laugh.
You turn your head and kiss my cheek in your sleep.
When you wake up you tell me it’s morning time.