The new government guidance, “Stay Alert!”
(Cause “staying safe” is so last month, you know.)
Of course, what we mean is that you should go
Outside *when necessary*. It can’t hurt

To phase this lockdown out! We must avert
An economic crisis. Deaths are low!
Under four hundred yesterday! And so
It’s time for us to, carefully, revert

To how things were before. It would be nice
To all stay home, but really, we can’t meet
The cost of that, so work till your last breath.

We do appreciate your sacrifice:
You’ll soon have got the country on its feet
And back to normal! (Now with added death.)

You are not clapping for the NHS
You’re clapping just to make yourself feel nice.
You do not care about the deep distress
You cause, expecting them to sacrifice

Their lives to care for people such as you,
Who go outside to do a conga line.
Who cough and say “I’m sure it’s just the flu”
Then pop out to the shop to get more wine.

Till suddenly you find that you can’t breathe
Call 111, and then call 999,
And even as you gasp for breath, believe
Those street parties two weeks ago were fine.

Don’t stand and clap next Thursday; stay inside.
In ten days, count how many more have died.

Get out the bunting! Wave your union flag!
(Not union jack, you cretin, that’s at sea)
Today’s the day that Britain gets to brag
About our most decisive victory!

Three quarters of a century ago
Our great grandparents gave the krauts what for!
And some of them are still alive to know
We treat it like some fucking football score.

It’s true, this year we’ve got to stay inside
Find novel ways to celebrate the fact.
Three quarters of a hundred million died,
But hey, at least we beat the fascists back!

Wave flags! Dress up! Be nationalist! Be loud!
I’m sure that those who died would be so proud.

This morning, I have seen a butterfly.
An orange tip. The first I’ve seen this year.
I opened my back door to watch it fly
Across the yard, and almost shed a tear.

Even the ants that crawl across the cracked
Concrete outside, (and keep coming inside
The house) evoke the deep and aching lack
Of nature in my life. We have to ride

This out. Have to stay in. But still I feel
The sudden joy at seeing something wild;
It’s rare these days. I know that one day we’ll
Be free. Today, I saw this thing, and smiled.

One day I’ll go out, seek the wild. But hey,
For now, I’ll take whatever comes my way.

Are you afraid to go out of the house?
Do you feel panicked when people get close?
Do you make daily, no hourly vows
Not to overreact? Do you break all of those?

Have you been washing your groceries well?
Are you afraid that you’ll let your guard fall?
Are your hands chapped from the soap and Purell?
Are you worried that none of it’s helping at all?

Do you feel sick when you’re watching the news?
Do you strongly suspect that somebody is lying?
Do you think you should limit your mobile phone use?
Cause the things that you read keep on leaving you crying?

And do you remember the times that you said
To someone in distress “Oh, it’s all in your head!”?

So here’s the thing. I’ve not been getting dressed.
At least, I have, but well, not properly.
Pajamas, T-shirts, boxers, it’s the best!
I’m comfortable, and well, who’s going to see?

And onesies! Really cute ones! I’ve got three!
They’re soft and cozy, fun to wear in bed
I used to scoff, but now I’ve come to see
The comfort value in them. This has led

Me to my worry: I have shaved my head.
I’m eating comfort food. I’m getting fat.
And yesterday what my reflection said
To me was this: “There’s no denying that

You’ve started to regress. It’s not just maybe:
You now resemble an enormous baby.”

She’s having difficulty breathing. Not
Enough to call an ambulance. Enough
To make her dizzy. Forehead isn’t hot.
She’s wheezing and, now and again, she coughs.

She is exhausted. Every move she makes
No matter how inconsequential leaves
Her limp. But still, she’s feeling like a fake:
The sort of symptoms that she might believe

Like fever, phlegm and headaches, are not present.
She’s only tired. It might not really be
Corona, but perhaps just an unpleasant
Bout of hayfever. There isn’t much to see.

She lies in bed, the battle waged unseen:
Imposter syndrome v Covid-19

Not many of you see me when I’m like
This. Anxiety heightened, filters down,
Autistic, more than usual: there’s a spike
In flapping, stimming. Usually I’d frown

And look remote. Hope people would ignore
Me till the meltdown moment passed, unseen.
I was an expert at just seeming bored
When overwhelmed. But since I haven’t been

In public, I’ve not used my public face.
The mask has fallen off. I don’t know where
It is. It’s fine while I’m in this one place
With someone who will understand, and care.

But when we meet, what are we going to do
When I’ve forgotten how to act like you?

Logistics, when in quarantine. A new
Impediment. When shopping trips were rationed
And nerve-wracking, if I had to, I knew
I could go out, if heeding the impassioned

Pleas to stay two metres spaced, to sanitize,
If I’d run out of something quite essential
(Eggs, pasta, Haribo). Now it’s unwise
To be anything more than residential.

So now I scour the online shopping sites.
I’m getting good. I’ve ordered veg and meat.
With people who’ll deliver them. I might
Not find our usuals. Nonetheless, we’ll eat.

We shall adapt. We’re endlessly elastic.
(Please, can somebody send us some Tangfastics?)

It’s alright, really. She is doing fine,
Considering. The symptoms aren’t severe
Comparatively. Yes, there are some signs
That it’s Covid-19. So there’s some fear.

There is some guilt. I brought the thing in here,
I must have done. Something I didn’t clean.
Someone I got too close to. And the sheer
Unfairness. She is ill. I’m fine. I mean

Who knows? Perhaps I’m in the space between
Infection and becoming symptomatic
Whatever, we are now in quarantine.
Our world has just become a bit more static.

And now all we can do is wait and see.
It’s going to be fine. It has to be.