“But this will cure all streight, one sip of this
Will bathe the drooping spirits in delight
Beyond the bliss of dreams. Be wise, and taste”
Comus by John Milton

The kettle’s on and while I wait, I dance
my way through Twitter, wasting time because
there’s not much going on for me except
tea. A friend has tweeted—venting his spleen,
although he doesn’t have one anymore,
which explains why he went to hospital
at the start of the pandemic. It was
touch and go for a while. Watching the stats
as he recovers at home, today he posts:
Boil the kettle. Make your tea. Before
you put mug to mouth, four more people
have died of Covid. At boiling point,
the kettle clicks and I pour scalding water
on the loose-leaf cure all. With spirits drooping
in despair, I taste one sip—and another
four slip beyond the hiss of dreams.