Poetry of a pandemic
Why This Phrase Makes My Blood Boil!
Poor old Boris
Something approaching causing much dread. Cobra meets missed were you out of your head? Scientists worried…you, not a care in the world. People would be dying and could not be held. Poor old Boris.
Why didn’t you look to over the sea? Realise mistakes would affect both you, them, and me. Proudly announcing you shook hands today. Then soon the country was in disarray. Poor old Boris.
Locked down too late let the virus take hold. For most only mild, no worries we were told. The numbers were rising but why can’t you see. The mistakes will affect both you, them, and me. Poor old Boris.
Finally locked down but it was too little too late. Still, at that point, we harbored no hate. We were in it together, holding strong as a team. Clapping for carers with delight and with glee. Poor old Boris.
All fine now, back to work you announce. Giving the virus the chance to pounce. We’re opening schools, yes we are, no we’re not. Perhaps this is when it dawned you’re a clot. Poor old Boris.
We’re following the science, schools back in September. The virus is still out there you don’t seem to remember. Numbers start rising but schools pronounced safe. The masks that we wear are starting to chafe. Poor old Boris.
The borders still open the numbers are rising. At this point, the ‘team’ had started dividing. No longer together, holding strong as a team. No clapping for carers with delight and with glee. Poor old Boris.
Watching co-workers go down with the ‘plague’ News from on high intentionally vague. Schools are not safe, we are crumbling we plea. Rooms stuffed full of children, no distance, you see? Poor old Boris.
Locked down again, but too little too late. This time the people are harboring hate. Breaking rules and dividing but why can’t you see. These choices will affect both you, them, and me. Poor old Boris.
So where to from here, when out you all say. At this point stay safe offer hope and do pray. Let’s unite back together, hold strong as a team. As the choices we make, affect both you, them, and me. Forget Boris!
I don’t normally write poetry but during the pandemic, my thoughts keep invading, this is my catharsis.
Poem written by Drama Llama | Educator | Writer | Academic | Consultant