The Sword of Damocles

Subject: The,Sword of Damocles 

As Spring slowly begins to reveal itself with crocuses and tulips opening their faces to the passing sun only to be cruelly cheated by the cold wind. It's still too soon for the wild flowers which burst into life in the woods and the hedgerows, the primrose and the snowdrop, the daffodil so loved by the poets are still hiding, awaiting their turn to enrich our visual world after the harsh reality of winter. 

The walks this year are banned to the hiker, other than those of them who are willing to brave the raucous shout from an unfriendly drone. The caravan parks, the speedboats and dinghy sailors are all home confiscated by the virus to their back garden, if lucky enough to have one.
I hear the young children forced out of school, shouting and screaming in their pent up exuberance to run off some of that energy but of the teenager we see nothing, locked away in their bedrooms entertaining themselves in the surreal world of the chat room.
What of their pent up energy, suffusing their libido with uncontested dreams and unfulfilled desire. A few, with two fingers in the air roam the streets with a bottle in the inside pocket and a pouch of spliffs in the other. Not for them the responsibility of self distancing, rather the virus is just another concoction made up by adults and mustn't get in the way of 'having a laugh'. Unconscious of the the ramifications of infecting their families, especial gran who lives with them, they narcissistically assume it won't trouble their age group and so why bother.
The streets and the open spaces are empty. The shops are empty along with the car parks, the pavements quiet and unused, a ghost town without ghosts. It reminds me of the 1950s film "On the Beach" where a submarine sets off from Australia to see if anyone is alive after an atomic war in the Northern Hemisphere. The streets of New York are empty, its citizens dead, a sailor from the city breakers away from the submarine to be last seen walking up the empty radioactive street on his final mission to get home.
The old and young alike are facing, for the young at least what it's like not to be able to enact their political right of freedom.
The air is full of evil potent and only the unbeliever has the confidence to go about their business as if nothing has happened. To them the dying are simply a reminder that we all have to die and instead they quote the number who die from road accidents as a reminder that death is inevitable. On the other side there is paranoia with regimes of hand washing and the constant cleaning of surfaces. Even the envelope which plops through the letter box is treated as if it's radioactive. Parcels are left on the doorstep and sprayed to decontaminate. Siren voices proclaim the rules and heaven help you if you are old and constantly reminded that the Sword of Damocles hovers above your head, 24/7.