Poetry in the Time of Corona

Hungryyy, he says.
My morning alarm.
I blink sleepily to three more
crowded on the bed.
One falls off
and I hoist her up again
whilst bringing newborn close.

Morning's gentle light falls on bare feet
padding downstairs for
warm porridge in pyjamas.

No rushing, no shortcuts, scrambling for shoes,
No 'Love you' thrown over small shoulders,
stooped under their schoolbag load.

Instead:
Laughter and tickles and questions and discovery.
Mummy with her babies together,
A family.
Where did these bright little beings come from?
Where have they been?
Why am I getting to know them only now?

Outside
has gone mad
With restrictions
and fear.
But at home
all is safe
protected
and near.