98. Pick-me-up

a celebration of Fats Waller

The opening bars are irresistible,
that piano brushing up against my hand
an eager puppy looking for a stroke.
His rich, warm voice, the chuckle breaking in,
the smart ad libs. Don’t let it bother you
he says. To give up hope would be a sin
and here comes consolation, bang on cue.
That “when somebody thinks you’re wonderful”
excitement, just imagine the surprise
of loving, being loved. The endless joke
that you can write yourself a letter, and
believe that everything will be OK.
It might sound sentimental, but it’s wise
and makes me smile. I’m fit to face the day.

97. Another Country

(This week, I looked again at the Channel 4 documentary
“The country that beat the virus”, first shown on 13 May.
Watch and weep.)

In South Korea they’re wary - they got scarred
by MERS: bureaucracy means people die.
The medics do the briefing, run the show
but this time round, they’ll tell the people straight
the measures that they need to take, and why.
They need a test developing; they blitz
the process. Normally, they’d have to wait
a year. Now, it’s a week. They’re ready, keen
to trace the contacts. Takes ten minutes max
to call up phone, health records, credit card.
A kid puts up this map. People can see
the places, contacts, times. Eight million hits.
No lockdown. They don’t need to. This machine
locates the virus, stops it in its tracks.

96. Single mum

(from an obituary in The Guardian:
Lorenza Bianchi, 1932-2020)

Lorenza’s in a taxi, with her news:
she’s going to have a baby. She looks out
and on the steps of Brompton Oratory
she sees her lover – and his lovely bride.
She copes. Sells knicknacks, runs a market stall;
a Maharaja’s maid. They will get by
her and Emanuela. No, they’ll thrive.
To Billie Holiday, Puccini, she
reviews the album of her hectic life.
Expelled from school, a photographic muse
who loved the jazz scene, flirted with the beats.
She’s dazzling. Here, in the obit, live.
That pixie photo, and her daughter’s words:
“Sharp, funny and outspoken. Unafraid.”

95. Short-term Investment

I am not here on holiday. This shift
is not a day-trip – selfie and move on.
Here in the ICU I work as long
as home-grown doctors, am exposed the same
but with more risk. I do have darker skin.

When my wife sees me off I see the fear
that’s written on her face. If I get ill?
If I transmit infection to our son?
And if I die, who’ll get the mortgage paid?
Will they be locked up? Shoved on to a plane?

My visa is extended for a year.
So, just enough to see this crisis through
and then we’re back to normal, where I’m shed
like soiled PPE. Disposable.

94. Not Suited

Everything’s changed. The pattern of our work,
the empty shops, the way that profits fall.
As virtual gatherings have gone berserk
our businesses are going to the wall.
I know we’re not alone, but bear in mind
how tough it is for tailors of repute.
Decorum’s dead, formality’s declined
and these days no-one seems to wear a suit.
Zoom screens are packed with leggings, leisurewear
and some stay in pyjamas all the time.
Casual, they say. I’d say, they’ve ceased to care;
to be respectable’s become a crime.
Moving more suits will be an uphill task
and as for selling ties – don’t even ask.  

93. Too little, too late

“Sitting in Limbo” was broadcast on BBC 1 on June 8

The Windrush facts are clear. Home Office staff
(with quotas for removal)  found this queue
of vulnerable blacks - “low-hanging fruit” -
the sort of target nobody would miss.
They lost their jobs, their homes, were locked away
and put on planes. Thirteen of them have died.
Apologies were made. Money’s still due.

And now the BBC will screen a play
about Anthony Bryan. One week to go:
Home Office on the phone. You have to laugh.
They’re offering compensation. Maybe this
could be a video call? How would it suit
for him to talk to Priti Patel, who’s lied,
delayed, made no amends? The answer’s no.

92. Vitalina Valera

another hidden gem from mubi.com

Try this. Think of a film, and then take out –
the young, the rich, the white. Stay in the dark.
Cut daylight, dialogue, action, humour, sex.
It sounds like boredom. It’s intensity

She’d flown in from Cape Verde, when she’d heard
about her husband’s death. Now she explores
the miserable shack in which he’s lived,
contrasts it with the palace they had built
together, when their hope and love were young.

Forty years back, he’d left her. Not a note.
She stayed alone, and got the promises
he’d send for her, she’d join him. Never did.
Interiors, and portraits of her face.
She’s not an actress. This is how it was.

91. Going It Alone

We put the call out. “Guys, we need a test.”
offers of help, proposals flooded in.
but then we changed our minds. “Forget the rest.
This is a race, and our app has to win.”

Poor kids need food. On that we’re all agreed.
Professors say nutrition’s being ignored
but we press on. Get parcels out at speed.
Discussion takes up time we can’t afford.

Millions for private tutors – no delay.
The unions moan, although we’ve spent big bucks.
They think the teachers ought to have a say
but life’s too short, and consultation sucks.

If you want teamwork then you’ll have to wait.
We run this show. We don’t collaborate.

90. No Man's Land

They changed the rules. They cancelled sixty-five
protections that keep teenagers in touch
with someone who might care to watch their back.
The social worker, face-to-face support,
weekly allowance – turned off like a tap.

The gangs don’t sleep. They have the database
of kids they trafficked, those who can be scared
or blackmailed into passing packages.
They’re keeping track of those who’ve been cut loose
and move in fast. They’re ready to recruit.

And in between, the casualties. The names
and numbers we don’t know. They’re off the books
beyond our reach and almost out of mind,
the not-quite-adults, not-quite-citizens.  

89. The Salisbury Poisonings

(shown on BBC Sun 14 June – Tues 16 June)

It’s not the Skripals, not the Russian men.
Professionals, caught in a deadly storm,
negotiate their patient way towards
the one, true ending – making people safe.
(Irony spoiler. I am watching this
after three months of government that thinks
the answer to a threat to public health
is briefings, bragging, hiring private firms.)
The loneliness, if you’re the one in charge.
She’s ruthless in the hunt for evidence,
something to guide her through uncertainty
despite the pressures – frightened citizens,
the budget, higher-ups, her own self-doubt.
The drama of responsibility.  

88. Own Goal

(“Water cannot be disconnected though.”
A tweet from Therese Coffey, work and pensions secretary,
in response to Marcus Rashford’s letter, 16 June 2020.)

How does a striker fill his lockdown days?
The schools are shut so Fairshare does this run
to get three million meals to kids in need.
Marcus is helping. He knows how it feels
to skip a meal because the money’s short,
to think electric, water might just go.
The breakfast clubs, the neighbours, free school meals
enabled him to do what he has done.
He writes a letter to MPs. They read:
“Find your humanity. Extend this scheme
to keep kids fed during the holidays.”

So will his plea get cabinet support?
Cue Thérèse Coffey, keen to kill the dream:
“But water can’t be disconnected though.”

87. Rescue

Gently, as if he were an injured child,
Patrick scoops up this isolated man
and carries him to safety, while his friends
-      a rugby pack who’ve planned a line-out move -
provide protection, give him breathing space.
No time to think. Do what you’ve got to do.
The man they save is racist, white but this
is no self-sacrifice. It’s not for him.
We did it for our kids. We leave him there
he dies, and we know what the judge will say.
Some black boys kill a white man, no-one cares
about what happened first. They think ahead
for others; they take action, as a team.
Police do that, and George Floyd’s still alive.

86. Learning Curve

An age ago, mid-March, when we could say
“that Chinese bug…shame about Italy…”,
the Cheltenham Festival was on the line.
So Laurence Robertson, Tewkesbury’s MP,
deplores the damage cancelling would bring.
He doesn’t mention he’d receive four grand
in hospitality. It goes ahead.

In May, Robertson’s father, eighty-nine,
is fighting for his life. By June, he’s dead.
He couldn’t say goodbye, a memory
of failure that will haunt him every day.
Cummings is in the garden, rabbiting
how tough it was. Not hard to understand
why Robertson should say he must resign.   

85. Distraction

Roll up, roll up! Join in the statue wars.
Spray paint and acid keep the picture blurred.
You pull down one of ours, we’ll topple yours.
Racism isn’t simple, black and white.
Rhodes scholarships…Colston’s philanthropy…
I was a scout since I was ten years old…
It’s set in stone. You can’t change history.

That ought to do it. Anything but face
the grim reality of what’s occurred.
A policeman has applied a choking hold
for nine long minutes, all within the sight
of silent officers. This pattern from the past
of us and them, of keep them in their place,
cannot go on. We have to change it, fast.

84. Production Line

(I’ve been reading Robert Lowell – see also
77 Blinkered for more of the background.)

You drive the sonnet treadmill, have no choice.
Two solid months, at more than one a day,
you’re working to be honest, stay in touch
across an ocean, while love runs berserk.
Sonnet means unified, compact. No rhymes,
and you suspect that old iambic drum –
although you play it brilliantly.
You fight the tyranny of tum-ti-tum,
told Heaney he should rough things up. The voice
can’t be that neat and tidy, given the way
life’s brutal, manic, unresolved. At times
you check with friends – do they see what you see?
Bishop suggests Art isn’t worth that much
but you don’t want to listen. Back to work.

83. Has-been

You were a player, plausible and proud.
The figurehead of Brexit, king of schools
when Cummings was your snarling protégé.
Look at him now. He’s trampled through the rules
but he’s in charge. He won’t let Number Ten
say anything. Dom wants things done his way.
You fall in line, and back him, yet again:
“To be a loving father’s not a crime.”
His story’s about him. It’s me, me, me.
“Boris was ill, had too much on his plate.”
Consult his patron? Talk to Gove, maybe?
Nobody seems to even contemplate
that prospect. You are running out of time,
an extra, on the fringes of the crowd.

82. Cryptic

I like my rituals. After tea each night
a coffee, and the crossword. If I knew
what happens when a setter gets it right
I’d bottle it. But that’s what pleases me.
6 down, for instance, offers “Teacher trained
with software, Outlook. (7, 8)” . Could be
straightforward, just a portrait. Once explained
its subtlety emerges. Seven, eight
makes fifteen letters. “Teacher” “software”?  Sweet.
The “trained” is code for “anagram”. I’d guess
“Outlook” must be the answer to the clue.
Forget technology. Where would you see
an outlook? TV? “Weather forecast”? Yes!
It’s not impossible, but it is neat.  

81. Spiral

(More comfort viewing, last thing at night.
See also sonnets 36, 45, 52 and 62.)

It’s Engrenages – three lawyers and a cop
caught in a tangle of coincidence.
The plotlines swirl, interconnect at speed
with breath-taking improbability.
A range of background, rank, experience.
Two men, two women. Through their busy doors
a vulnerable queue, a human tide
which tests their versions of morality,
their different blends of insight, blindness, need.
They do their best. It’s never quite enough –
deception, sexual violence, power. The laws
are weak, the world is unremitting, tough.
We know this helter-skelter ride won’t stop
until the series ends – but what a ride!

80. Slow Lane

You may have to wait a little longer today…
(Notice in local chemist’s)

The first time in ten weeks. I’m at the wheel
and yes, I do remember how to drive.
It’s still a shock. When I was out before
did fifty miles an hour feel this fast?

If I were on a motorway I’d choose
the inside lane. No need to overtake,
allow the time to readjust, react.
The lockdown lesson – you can slow the pace.

The garden centre’s open. Just nip in
pick up some herbs, but something’s different now.
Why are these people sitting in the sun?
They’re waiting. Just a quarter of an hour.
And at the till, the same thing will apply.
New normal’s here. There’ll be a lot of queues.  

79. Delivery

You know the mantra: We’ll do what it takes.
Wages unpaid, evictions on the way,
homeless at risk – the government steps in.
It’s obvious, if schooling goes online
have-nots lose out. Must get them on the net
and close that gap, or it’ll be too late.
Six weeks ago a spokesman launched this scheme.
For teachers, parents, kids a real win-win
relieving pressure. He announced they’d pay
for lap-tops, routers. So far, not a sign.
Schools filled out orders, and they wait. And wait.
The parents knew. They never get the breaks.
The kids have learnt something they won’t forget –
a politician’s promise is a dream.