The Corona Viriade
Stuck indoors as everyone else, John Carr adds a bit of levity to our unsettling times by thumbing his nose at the Coronavirus.
Coronavirus, what are you?
Methinks you are the devil true,
With horns and lumps and horrid things,
The only thing you lack is wings.
We see your picture on tv:
The way you sidle up gently
To healthy tissue, there to pounce
And spew inside your fatal ounce
Of spiral poison, which uncoils
Inside a healthy cell and spoils
Whatever life-giving is there
To send us to intensive care.
Go forth, vile bug, and do your worst,
Your bubble will one day be burst.
You didn’t come here by pure chance —
That much we know — our insouciance
Brought you to us, tsunami-like,
A sudden blow, a lightning strike.
All we have are the bell curves
The media show to calm our nerves.
Their shape is such to imply that
Coronavirus, you’ll go flat
Within three or four weeks at most,
And the summer sun will roast
Your ass, so you will leave us free
To go on holidays fancy-free.
But till that day, coraggio all,
Don’t let it drive you up the wall.
We’ll stop you, Covid, in your tracks
Self-isolate and wield the axe.
Though I can’t help but smell a rat —
Are you as simple as all that?
We hear all manner of strange tale
That makes our spirits quake and quail.
Coronavirus, pestilent.
When will your fury, then, be spent?
