The Few

Shall we embrace military ways
of fighting & furloughs – of a war
vying unknowns? Rhetoric wins
when we have battles to be won

[& rulers plump before their gilt
mirrors & spun doctors – Should
I sport khakis today? Honey! Do I
look grand in green?] As leaders

preen & try to mask their smiles
from us as our medics sudate &
have their dripped brows wiped
by twice-gloved hands [we’ll not

see a shortage of any politicos!]
They put padlocks on our doors
to save us from ourselves [such
Maoist thoughts surely reserved

for communists – not dear Boris
who bends to scientific advisors
for seismic shifts of old canons]
His Tory party is stuck at prayer

as funeral homes see profits up
What’d Mrs Thatcher have done?
He wonders – Shown some balls?
This phoney war will bloom unto

bodies in bags [of which we don’t
have enough] Honey! Do I look OK
in grey – a single zipper – done up?
It’s a trendy thing in NY & Lon-don

When emptied high streets return
to trades – to lattes – to crowds of
grazers – when our herd re-settles
what will we have learnt from our

months of one tiny pandemic? Will
we regress to pack mentalities – a
need to fly & travel at any cost – to
tarry & forget? In war there is less

[but more is embraced once those
words of speechmakers & priests
have been fired off & we look at all
their echoed shells] & few are sure

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