Well, herewith I append my thoughts and prayers
For our prime minister, whose health’s in doubt:
Survive, you bastard. Don’t you fucking dare
Stop breathing. Don’t you dare to weasel out
Of this. You ought to be on trial for murder,
Not canonised, a martyr to the cause
Of your own policies. You thought the “herd” a
Bunch of lives, expendable: not yours.
Soon, doctors will be forced to make the call:
Which patient most deserves a ventilator?
And while I do not think you do, at all,
I want you here, accountable, when later
We look back on this time, and at your sin
When you said “we” must “take it on the chin”.
Tom Juniper Poetry 