R.G. Jodah

London, UK

 

Lives in London enjoying the silence.  Recently appeared in: PORT (Dunlin Press), Dawntreader, Ink, Sweat & Tears.

 

Poem completed 23rd March 2020

 

 

Australia Going Viral

 

You can hear the rumpus rumbling all the way from aisle four

where some heavyweight contenders are arguing the score.

The champ has got a trolley-full, her challenger sod all.

They're going at it toe-to-toe. The writing's on the wall

 

in these End of Days where shopping is a contact sport

like the footie or the rugger, fisticuffs a first resort.

You wanna buy from Woolies? You best come packing heat

cos it's feeding time for lions and loo rolls are fresh meat.

 

                                                                                   Still,

you gotta love the irony, restricting tissue sales

when on the news are reams and reams of sphincter loos'ning tales.

But every "death toll rises" coughs up a comic turn

as the great unwashed demonstrate how little we have learned.

 

The temperature's been spiking like a fever, getting high,

so who here was surprised to see the lemmings at Bondi?

Or just how quick ScoMo flipped on Saturday's big game?

First he's going, then he's not. It's different, but the same.

And I don't mind admitting to be baffled, at a loss,

confused by social distancing, and if it's sneeze ... then toss?

... Then wash?

Am I self-isolated when I lock the dunny door?

3-ply won't wipe this shit away and Coles ain't selling 4-.

 

Yet for all my of anxiety, this nut ain't hard to crack:

do what the medics tell you, stay at home, sit down, kick back.

This year has been a gut punch, and today they closed the pub.

To drink alone, or not to drink: aye, now there's the rub.