You start with a foot in both camps,
eager to act as go-between,
show that weíre really all the same.
Losing heart, you find yourself
explaining to both sides
that you are back where you came from.
Finally, head down, settling for silence,
youíre fired on from both sides
dodging bullets in no-manís land.
A last hurray
for Motherís Day
For Fatherís Day
blinking emergence to chinks
of post-lockdown light.
If you have any thoughts on these poems, Ann Gibson would be pleased to hear them.