When All This Is Over I’ll go to the library browse for three hours and touch all the pages drive through the retail park where nothing’s essential marvel at people who wander round freely buy plants in profusion at the out-of-town garden centre with queuing and chatter and cake in the cafe.
I’ll get on the Megabus with random escapees When All This Is Over and tour around Scotland heading North on the A9 just for the hell of it we’ll sing When You’re Smiling to cheer up the driver I’ll move through the bus with boxes of Roses hear snippets of stories of courage and grieving.
I’ll go for a haircut When All This Is Over get highlighted spikes and a new sense of daring then into the pub to meet friends and singers tell tales of survival, eat chips with our fingers, play songs until midnight, spill out on the pavement mock our own smallness and the two-metre rule.
I’ll sit on a park bench with a takeaway coffee and a couple of strangers When All This Is Over to cry over hard times when life was impossible stocking up toilet rolls, bingeing on chocolate promise never again to ignore other people and keep kitchen dancing just for the hell of it.
When All This Is Over I’ll walk up Schiehallion and share my prosecco with folk on the summit breathe in clear air and toast our good fortune savouring the moments of life re-emerging I’ll write epic poems of wreckage and Covid and the force of compassion sustaining the world.