I hope I survive this. I want to tell
Reluctant teenagers in twenty years
“Schools’s boring? Listen, we were bored to tears
In 2020! It was living hell!

You don’t like what’s for dinner? Let me spell
It out for you. Back then we would have cheered
For canteen chips!” I want to be that weird
Curmudgeon with a veritable well

Of anecdotes. I’ll tell them of the queues
Spaced two metres apart, and of the masks
The cough, the chills and fever and the dread.

And even though it’s selfish, I would choose
If possible, to be here when they ask

To, one day, tell them stories of the dead.

This film about apocalyptic plague
Is crap. There’s no rampaging undead horde
Of zombies. Sure, there is a sense of vague
Unease, but mostly everyone seems bored

And lonely. It’s mundane, nobody’s dying.
Sometimes somebody starts to cough, that’s it.
Except there’s then this mise en scene implying
That yes. They are. In thousands. And it’s shit.

Remember how good horror used to be?
A bloodbath, or a jump-scare or a ghost?
Not unremitting, bleak mundanity:
I think that’s why it’s scaring me the most.

The sense that this is simply how things are’s
More frightening than zombie hordes, by far.

Are you essential workforce? NHS
Or similar? Right, have you got a cough
And temperature? If you have answered yes
Then click the link below. If not, log off.

If you know that you’ve been exposed, well, tough.
I am afraid you do not qualify
Today. No matter if you’re feeling rough.
No cough, no test for you. And please don’t lie.

If you are really ill, it’s time to try
And book your test. Of course, you’ll need your car.
Feverish, coughing, trying not to cry
Our testing centres are not all that far.

Too ill? Don’t drive? Click here to test at home.
(Error. Link dead. Good luck, you’re on your own.)

I don’t want to make sourdough fucking bread.
I do not want to fucking learn to knit.
Fuck off Joe Wicks, you perky little shit,
I only want to stay in fucking bed.

And wallow in my existential dread.
Fuck meditation, mindfulness and zen.
Fuck recipes, I’m having chips again.
And trying not to think about the dead.

I will not use this time productively
It’s not a chance to focus, grow my brand.
To put my life in order, to take stock.

This feels like slow apocalypse, you see.
I’ve got enough on, trying to understand:
Daily reprocessing the grief and shock.

Ten songs  that  made you who you are today.
Ten jobs you’ve had, except that one’s a lie.
Ten places that you’ve lived, then gone away.
Your ten absolute favourite films, and why.

Your first pet and the street where you were born.
Your grandma and the last thing that you ate.
In case you need a name for drag, or porn.
Or something to help you procrastinate.

Ten places you will go, when this is over
Ten people you will hug, when this is done.
Ten people you are praying will recover.
Ten ways you can pretend you’re having fun.

So many different things that we can find
So that we can avoid “What’s on your mind?”

The new coronavirus treatment: bleach!
Kills 99% of all known germs!
It reaches parts that others cannot reach!
It could be great, the president confirms!

If disinfecting surfaces can free
Them of Covid-19, then only think
What it can kill, taken internally!
So hold your nose, and pray to Trump, and drink!

It won’t be pleasant. That just shows it’s working!
The burning pain is all the proof you need
To know the deadly virus therein lurking
Will soon have nothing left on which to feed!

To try this remedy, I’m nothing loath:
This “kill or cure”‘s for sissies: why not both?

CN Transphobia (described)

Imagine you’re at home with mum and dad.
The place you feel unsafe, unrecognised.
Of “I will beat it out of you, my lad!”
Of “All this gender nonsense is just lies!”

Imagine that your youth groups, that your friends
Who always made you feel so validated,
Are out of reach, and now you must pretend
To be what you are not, or else be hated.

Now picture this: in this unnerving time,
The government are talking about laws
To make the help you’re longing for a crime.
You had one hope; they want to slam the doors.

Who is the danger to society?
Trans kids, or those who force them not to be?

(for reference: https://www.stonewall.org.uk/about-us/news/why-were-worried-about-government%E2%80%99s-statement-trans-rights-legislation)

I’m eating more poached eggs for breakfast now.
I feel I should conserve them, but each day
When I wake up, I just think about how
Replete I’ll feel. Usually there’s no way

I’ll have time to poach eggs before I go
To work. And now, there is no such restriction.
And poached eggs make me feel so good and so
I’ll feed this warm and comforting addiction.

Poached egg on toast: that used to be the meal
My mum would make, if I was feeling ill.
And if it helps me, in these times, to deal
With everything, then eat poached eggs I will.

And if there is a shortage, don’t you dare
Suggest alternatives: nothing compares!

I’m following the government advice
I’m staying home. I’m doing what they said.
And while confinement isn’t very nice
I’d rather fewer people end up dead.

That sounds so pious. Let me stay instead
That staying in and doing bugger all
Is heavenly. I like staying in bed!
I dread the day when I will get the call

To go back into work. I will appall
My colleagues with the way that I’ve regressed:
And while I want infection rates to fall
The thought of lockdown ending leaves me stressed

Because my social skills have gone to shit.
(Also, all of my clothes no longer fit.)

At this point it is difficult to tell
What is depression, hayfever and stress,
And what could be A SYMPTOM. It is best
To play it safe, when you’re not feeling well

Ignoring quarantine advice could spell
Disaster. But I really must confess
I don’t know how we’ll get more food. I guess
We’ll make it last. It kind of feels like hell,

This sense of constant hypochondria:
Is this a fever? Am I going to cough?
Did I fuck up When trying to avoid

People outside? It would be worse by far
To disregard the symptoms, act all tough:
We’re saving lives by being paranoid.