Poem
Maxine Beneba Clarke
generation zoom
in the third week of the pandemic
schools started closing
workers were sent home
and they started to call the youngsters:
generation zoom
named, of course, for that chat-app
all of them seemed to use
logging in for facetime
completing maths lessons online, dancing
tiktok feeds on loop, clicking in
to instanews, and everyone was asking:
what on earth will become
of whatsapp’s children?
visiting friends
through cracked iphone glass,
and advised to stay away
from their own mama’s arms
who weren’t allowed
to warm to touch
cause don’t you know
there’s a virus going round
and
less is love, baby, less is love
parented
from one point five
metres away
what hope the future,
when a whole generation
grew up this way:
socially distant
quarantined
and self isolated
no giggly schoolgirl notes
tucked into the pockets
of square-checked tunics
nor the exquisite
stomach-churns you used to get
when someone you liked
stood
close to you
but generation zoom
they saw the neighbours
from two doors down
put a note in their letterbox
asking if they still had food
generation zoom
streamed bitter fights
in supermarket aisles
over toilet paper
and baked beans
but they also saw us learn
how to grow the world, from seed
how the cities, silent
were so beautiful
how, for the first time in so long,
dad was home:
and he vacuumed, and
forgot to act
like dinner was his due
and all the family
were on the same time frame
in the same house
defrosting bolognaise, and
bickering, and bunking in
elijah’s boyfriend
was finally allowed to phone:
even though mum was
‘still confused about the whole gay thing’
cause don’t you know
there’s a pandemic going on
and
love is love, ma, love is love
in the end
we’ll be okay
cause generation zoom
grew up this way:
learning stocks can be lost
as fast as accumulated
that health is wealth
and love is gold
and life
will find a way