I don’t care too much for money
Must be six weeks since it jangled in my pocket,
since coins were important – or indeed notes.
That community cafe where they didn’t take cards,
I think, when I drove home from the festival of poets.
It can’t buy me breath, nor health, nor touch now.
Not even my supplies from the local Tesco –
a dead commodity nobody wants, if it can’t
pay the cashier for a bottle of Prosecco.
I dandle none, dander to the shore, no where
to go and nothing there to buy when I arrive.
Other matters matter more now – new-born
values that are somehow very old and wise,
precious as those four tiny ducklings that
repay my real expense of energy in walking
by two trembling minutes of splash-play –
instinctive, feathery balls, together frolicking.
Live, little ones. Avoid the crows.
‘Testimony of the Untested’, a daily lockdown poetry series by Robert Alan Jamieson, who is in recovery from a corona-like virus. You can read his other works here.