Have we done enough.
To stop. To slow.
This is our pivotal point in history,
Generations to come, will ask
Why didn’t you just,
Stay. The. Fuck. Home?
He doesn’t represent us.
Doesn’t hear us,
Our voices not penetrating stone.
Walls. Or closed minds.
He goes to watch the fucking football,
2 metres squared – my arse.
He reads someone elses lines, no one signs – the first address.
Our economy, decreases
His value – as a leader – depreciates
The pandemic, increases.
No curve / just angles.
His angle – too focused on dollars.
The epicentre, health.
I see the fear in every doctor around me,
The alarms surround me.
Alarming me most,
An anxious collective of, Genii.
They don’t see us.
There may not be blood on our doors.
There will be mucus on our floors
The angel of death,
Coughing and spluttering – on past
Passing over us.
Plagued by a history, not surpassed
Told remotely, seats deserted
Elijah’s glass not the only one to be left,
Will this blood be blotted out of our history.
Like many worrying choices,
Our government has made in the past.
22 March 2020