Pandemic

Sun
hat,
tweed coat,
locked-down walk
two meters alone,
the old man is promenading.
I see him every day shuffling home past my window,
his mouth is open but not for a scream, his jaw hangs loose, the grimace unintended.
He isn't weeping - blocked tear ducts mimic emotion.
'Nearly there,' he says with each step.
The slow march proceeds
conjuring
muffled
drum
beats.