Thank everyone who’s helping us right now.
The postal workers: thank them from afar.
Don’t moan about delays. Think about how
They’re risking their own lives: each one a star!

And yes, the NHS deserve our praise;
That is a given. But think of the workers
In private nursing homes. That’s tough, these days!
They’re working just as hard! They are no shirkers!

The supermarket workers, too, are heroes.
Ensuring we can get our food, they’re there.
Before, their worth was counted near to zero.
Perhaps, at last, we’re growing more aware.

Thank all these people. Praise. Admire. Adore.
Then wonder why you never did before.

So, Dominic and Boris got the bug:
I’m trying now, to wisely choose my words.
Don’t want my ethical position blurred
I almost want to roll my eyes, and shrug.

And while I’m hardly going to send them hugs
And kisses, thoughts and prayers, it feels absurd
To celebrate their joining of “the herd”
To gloat about the graves that they have dug

Themselves, when it’s the graves of thousands more
I mourn. The schadenfreude’s wearing thin
Because these two, when faced with our demands

For swift responses, funding; just ignored
The cries, told us to “take it on the chin”:
They’ll never wash that blood from off their hands.

We walk around the local park in pairs
Or else alone. No groups. No children play.
Like lords and ladies, out to take the air,
Or prisoners taking their hour a day

Out in the yard. It’s only been this way
A week, but everybody’s  got it down:
And when we pass, nobody has to say
A thing. We step aside. We walk around.

It’s oddly formal. There’s hardly a sound.
No shouting, traffic’s quiet. We don’t talk
That much. We simply make our daily round
This ritual: the Covid-19 walk.

It’s strange to walk in circles even though
We’re well aware there’s nowhere else to go.

It frightens me how quickly we’ve got used
To this. It hasn’t even been a week.
Remember getting angry at the news
But in the abstract? Now, it’s all so bleak

And personal: they’re talking about us.
Restricted movement, shortages, more deaths…
Remember when just getting on a bus
Was normal? Now, we’re scared to take a breath

In case we cough in public. And we dance
Around each other, trying to keep the space
Between us big enough. We take no chances.
It’s strange, these days, to not cover your face.

How long is this new order going to last?
And how we accept it all so fast?

At eight o’clock, applaud the NHS
Stand in your doorway, whoop and wave and cheer
And do it loud, make sure the neighbours hear!
Don’t, even to yourself, ever confess

You helped to get these workers in this mess:
Short staffed, with next to no protective gear
Fighting this crisis, fighting back their fear…
Just clap and smile. That’s certain to impress!

And if you voted in the politicians
Who in their turn, proposed and passed the bills
That slashed support for those whom you applaud

And if you, prior to this, took the position
That low paid workers don’t have vital skills,
Your smug charade is nothing but a fraud.

Before, on days like this, we would have said
“Forget the planning!”, taken the kids out
To Rivelin to run around instead.
We’d bring a football. Tell them not to shout

Too loudly, even though we knew they would.
Old ladies tutting at their whoops and screams
We’d tell ourselves “the fresh air does them good!”
Try not to laugh when one fell in the stream.

The classroom’s empty now. The kids are all
At home. We hope they are. We do not know
Whether or not they heed the weather’s call.
We pray for gales, or pouring rain, or snow.

Oh kids, I know that it’s a lovely day,
But please, I beg you. Don’t go out to play!

They said “why are you always on your phone?
It’s antisocial! We’ve become a nation
Of mindless zombies. Simple conversation
Was good enough for us! You youngsters moan:

“If you can’t get connected, you’re alone!
Are these devices causing isolation?All this screen time will end in devastation!
Go out! You do not need your wi-fi zones!”

(Online, we’ve built communities for years:
Reached out to friends across the world and now
Although we’re all sequestered, we can wether

This storm. We’ll try to calm each other’s fears
And when they cry “It’s all so dreadful! How
Will we get through this?” We will say “Together.”)

I’m on essential business: buying food
I know the rules should not be too elastic
But let me tell you, it will not be good
If, in my house, we run out of Tangfastics…

This lockdown, when announced, sounded quite drastic
But in reality, it’s kind of… Nice?
Compliance is reluctant, and sarcastic
We keep our distance, grin and roll our eyes.

We make light of it. Trying to diguise
The mounting panic. We are glib, urbane.
We know it’s bad. We know that it’s unwise
To panic. Irony might keep us sane.

I buy Tangfastics. Rice and lentils too.
And quietly wonder what the fuck we’ll do.

We are in lockdown. We cannot go out
To socialize. We cannot congregate
In public spaces. Anyone who flouts
These edicts will be punished. It’s too late

To stop, or even really slow the spread
But better late than never. The UK
Is going to see a lot of people dead.
The virus isn’t going to go away

This is the new normal. And it is weird
To feel relief more than we feel alarm.
Despite a this being, once, what we most feared,
We greet dystopia with open arms.

It’s necessary. We’re under attack.
But will we ever get our freedom back?

I hate that this caveat is needed, but the stuff mentioned in this poem, other than the handwashing, is obviously bullshit.

Certainty

Does drinking lots of water stop the spread?
Or does that simply make you touch your face
More, spreading germs around the place?
The people on my Healthwise forum said

That gargling with saline will soon head
The bug off at the pass. I’ve heard a taste
Of cider vinegar will help. We race
To find that One Weird Trick before we’re dead.

What sources can we trust? The NHS
Says “wash your hands and stay at home”. That’s not
Enough for us. We’re used to feeling sure.

This “wait and see” lark only causes stress!
The internet is all the hope we’ve got:
Somewhere, there is a blog that holds the cure.