Thank God, the PM’s out of ICU!
(Edmond, Abdul, Alice, Fayez, Jitendra)
But he’s a fighter, that we always knew!
(Rebecca, Anton, John, Glen, and Areema)

We prayed, we clapped, and it was not in vain!
(Mohammed, Lynsay, Aimee, Liz and Alfa,)
We did it! Now we all can breathe again!
(Thomas, Amged, Habib, Adil and Pooja.)

This truly is a day of celebration!
Good Friday! Boris wins another fight!
He’ll soon be up, and back leading our nation!
(Make sure the papers lead with that, alright?)

The list will keep on growing, to our shame.
Don’t clap for Boris Johnson, speak their names.

https://www.google.com/amp/s/www.telegraph.co.uk/news/2020/04/07/nhs-staff-died-coronavirus-frontline-workers-victims/amp/

If you had told me, just a month ago
“You’re off the hook! You do not have to work!
You’ll still get paid, (albeit slightly low)
Just stay at home!” I think that I’d have smirked

And not believed you. Labeled you a jerk
For teasing me like that. Although I love
Bits of my job, I will admit I’d shirk
My duties if I could: I’ve had enough.

And now it’s come to pass! It’s all above
Board! I don’t have to go! I’m free! I’m free…
  …To stay indoors. Fancy a day trip? Tough!
I’m not allowed. It’s house arrest for me,

In lockdown, but I’m not ashamed to say:
*I wouldn’t have gone out much anyway*.

The only toilet roll that I can buy’s
The posh stuff. I could always wait and see
If they get more in, but it seems unwise:
Worse to have none, than wipe in luxury.

With too much time at home, I’m cooking way
More food, although I know I really shouldn’t
Be profligate. It’s bad, because today
I tried to fasten up my jeans, and couldn’t.

I haven’t done a laundry load in days.
I thought apocalypse would hold more dramas:
They said we’d have to learn to change our ways:
They never said a thing about pajamas.

A nation lazes, eating junk in bed,
Refreshing sites that daily count the dead.

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”.

“We are the virus, and the Earth is learning
To breathe again! She felt that she would drown
In all the smoke and poison hanging  round
From everything our species had been burning!

And now she’s healing: Dolphins are returning
To Venice! Mountain goats are coming down
Out of the hills to frolic in the town!
She’s cleansing herself!” What is with this yearning

To frame Coronavirus as a cure,
And millions dead a blessing? Don’t they know:
The poor will die. The oil barons will thrive?

And Earth is not some maiden, sweet and pure
Pandemics and pollution? They have no
Effect on rock: it’s we who won’t survive.

I’m really trying not to panic. Panic
Buying’s irresponsible. The shelves
Are empty because some ignorant manic
Panic buyer’s thinking of themselves.

But if I go out shopping and I see
One bag of gnocchi, yeah, I’m gonna take it!
That might be the last gnocchi!  I would be
A fool to leave it there. Sure, I could make it

With flour, potatoes, but there’s no more flour!
I cannot make my own: I’ve got to buy!
Do we eat gnocchi usually in our
House? No! But even so, I’ve got to try

To just respond with calm and measured thought:
To buy the food before it’s panic-bought.

How long will we be stuck in here together?
Another month? Or two, or maybe more?
The length of this confinement we must weather
Is indeterminate. We know it’s for

The best, but the uncertainty is tough.
It’s lovely now, but will it always be?
When will we find that we have had enough
Of being with each other constantly?

It hasn’t happened yet. Facebook is full
Of people saying that they’re going mad
And swearing that they’re going to have to kill
Their partner. But this doesn’t seem too bad.

These times are scary, but this much is true:
I love being in quarantine with you.

It’s sunny out, and usually on days
Like this, I’d think “You know, I really should
Go out into the Peak District!” I would
Berate myself so much for being lazy,

As my free time dissolved into a hazy
Round of Netflix, napping; “That’s no good!
Go out! Explore the heath, the wild, the wood!
Hear skylarks warble! Watch the spring lambs graze!

Don’t stay indoors!” My inner voice would chide,
It used to instigate, but now, it warns:
“Stay in! Watch Netflix! Don’t go out at all!

Our roles reversed, I long to go outside,
Explore the wilds, the woods, the moors, the lawns,
It’s so much harder, now, to fight their call.

(At the time of writing the total number of officially recorded Covid-19 cases is just over one million.)

Over one million sick (official count)
And fifty thousand dead. And so we sit
At home and watch as the new cases mount.
There isn’t much we can do to make it

Less terrible. Less frightening. Less shit.
We watch the government leaving it later
And later to provide NHS kit
Today, they sent them thirty ventilators!

One million. Thirty. That’s the difference here.
I never was much good at mathematics
But even I can see enough to fear:
Our government’s crisis response is… static.

We cannot help, although we see the need.
Those who could help will not, out of sheer greed.

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.