saus

Scared sausage

A poem about the coronavirus, by Jo Wallace

Dear Coronavirus...
It’s 3:30AM and I really can’t sleep
I’m counting spikey killers when I should be counting sheep
You’ve pricked collective conscience, you’re there in every tweet
You’ve popped a globe-sized bubble and emptied every street*

And supermarket shelf...
Toilet rolls and pasta are the new measure of wealth

Cash is dead. Carex is King
Fucking hell, you’ve changed e v e r y t h i n g
Two-thousand and twenty will go down in history
All that came beforehand is now the new ‘BC’

Before Coronavirus...

Oh wow... Do you remember those days?
With real-life interactions and unsanitary ways
Washing hands BC...? Ten seconds at the most?
Our slack approach to hygiene made us the perfect host

For your mighty wake up call...
You dial the numbers faster your victims quickly fall

Humanity retreats. In fear of death.
But that same fear gives nature breath
Now rivers start to sparkle, is this the silver lining?
Nature chose to heal itself, this moment is defining

I’m getting deep, let’s play a game
Let’s find out your Corona name

Take your current emotion, add the last thing that you ate
I know an ‘Anxious Cream Egg’, who’s in a right old state
Upset by people who won’t stay in: “I won’t be held a hostage”.
These selfish fools who’ll bring us down mean I sign off as ‘Scared Sausage’.


*Except for in the UK where people are merrily ignoring the need to stay home and at a distance from others in order to stop the spread of the virus. Too selfish to care that even though they feel fine they could be a carrier, passing it on to others who are vulnerable, in turn overwhelming the already precarious NHS and causing even more deaths. Thanks Shitheads.

This piece first appeared on Jo's LinkedIn here.