Allowed

Marla is sitting on the stairs

in her raincoat.

Hood up,

mouth down.

What’s happening? I ask.

I’m not allowed out.

I mean, is it prison I’m in or what?

Who put up that sign?

I feel like bloody Oscar Wilde

without the hat.

Or the talent.

I don’t know, I say,

glad the sign is there and Marla

knew to stay put.

Why don’t we go to the corner shop

for some sweets? I suggest,

handing Marla her handbag.

She smiles at the front door,

points at the A4 printed sign on it.

And I’m taking that down.

IMPORTANT: DO NOT GO OUT ALONE.

CALL PEGGY IF YOU NEED ANYTHING.

We leave the house.

And we leave the sign.