The Virus Poem

time has come, the cripple said, to talk of many things,

Of news and shit, and screaming quacks,

Of lies and naked kings

The virus first came from China, they said, where nasty people were, and deserved it.

Cruelty reaped its just deserts they said, and their pointing fingers remained steady; “Rubbish” the chinamen retorted, “the shit was probably brought by U.S. soldiers, in what what amounts to war!”

Though no-one listened, the cripple wondered why no-one else had noticed how the virus had appeared first not just in China but also in Iran; two countries with a common enemy, now with common symptoms a fever and a cough, with snot, but really only for the lucky few, who flew around in planes, in cattle class breathing each other’s noxious  vapours, up close for days on end.

”of course, Cripple” the gerbil said.” If they were really old, and already half dead, all bets were off for getting better – they’d as like as not pop their crocs from it as something else. “

“It isn’t much of a bio weapon then” the Cripple said relieved, since despite his mighty bluster his heart was perhaps too kind.

“You’ve missed the main symptoms of the sickness dear Spazz”, said the gerbil and her voice was kind. ”Shut down air travel. The Police to have far more powers. states of emergency in Victoria with police on high alert in face-masks.”

“I think I’ve got it now”, the cripple said, he really felt quite sick.

(C) Alex Rieneck 2020

Poetry

12-bore ReIncarnation

Nembutal is slower 

And you can vomit it up.

Smack’ll do the trick if the NarCan man is slow that day. But there’s no cure for painting the wall

With your mind and putting your everything into it, a blossoming rose of forget-me-not that has forgotten everything 

It ever

knew

© Alex Rieneck 2019 All Rights Reserved.