Covid-19
There are no rats streaming off from
rigged ships,
No bell clanging crier calling out the
dead,
No trundling overburdened tumbrils led
By masked spectres as the malady grips.
No crosses daubed over doors, though
handles
And handshakes could prove fatal. Fast
as fear
This plague flies, a traveller’s
souvenir
Round the carousel of the world,
dandles
Life and death without intent or
purpose
Other than its own being. City shaken,
Markets deserted and futures tumbling.
The preachers of profit are at a loss,
While pubs are closing, last orders
taken.
Lock all the doors…but the walls are
crumbling.
Dave Alton
