I tried to bake bread rolls. They turned out badly.
The bottoms burnt, but pale and raw inside.
I read a news report. It told me, sadly,
That well over 500 more had died.
Just here. In the last day. Five-sixty-three.
It climbs and climbs, the number of the dead.
There’s NHS staff with no PPE
And I just sit here, failing to make bread.
We cannot protest, cannot storm the streets.
We cannot force our government to act.
I can’t even make bread rolls fit to eat.
It really seems as if the odds are stacked
Against us. But we’re trying to stay strong.
It’s somehow worse when little things go wrong.
Tom Juniper Poetry 