When friends and lovers meet unmasked in the street,
a spectre slips its hand between hands held till it's over.
Old men congregate at round tables once more.
Between sips of beer, counting who is still here. Over
WhatsApp and group chats, advice pours like blessing.
Fear doesn't blow over until it's all over.
Coated in regards, we return to the grind.
If there even is a grind to tide us over.
Us and our flood. A recurring pandemic.
The otters and the birds and the fish know it's over.
She won't want to say they asked overtime of her.
It's great that her Sundays off at home are now over.
He'll still be isolated from the country he built.
The poet inside him, welding words over and over.
When we ask if happy-ever-after really has resumed,
we discover none of it's over until it's all over.
• Jennifer Anne Champion, 32, has published two poetry chapbooks, A History Of Clocks (2015) and Caterwaul (2016). During the circuit breaker period, she, her sisters and their cat would snuggle up in their parents' bed and read fairy tales out loud.
• For more local digital arts offerings, go to a-list.sg to appreciate #SGCultureAnywhere