To intensive care and virus wards each day
In every town they make their way.
Caring souls, disguised in blue and white,
To fight against the Covid blight.
Shift after shift, through night and light
Brothers and sisters of mercy face up to our plight.
Masked, shielded, smocked and booted
lonely, fearful, solely commuted
on the near empty bus and tram
where no-one speaks or gives a damn.
So worried they may pass on this bug
to those at home they dearly love…
Many plot up in hostels and hotels
Exhausted, in a room that feels like a cell
Restlessly waiting to return to the hell
Of wheezing coughing comatose souls
Whose lives hang under God’s control.
Mothers, Fathers from Bolton to Cannes,
Uncles, Aunties, Grandads and Grans,
Sitting ducks for an invisible killer,
Waiting for help from the Governing tiller.
Mavis, fifty knows all their names,
Has no regrets from when she became
A carer who sings and gives pale cheeks a tweak
Trains young Alice whose been there two weeks.
They play Bingo and Chairobics with laughs a plenty
As each dawn sees another chair empty…
Carry on with a plastic apron and a pathetic mask
Risking all to perform their tasks…
All the management can do is ask and ask…
Politicians who have cultivated a mortal sin
And consigned our old folk to the recycle bin.
Ordinary people who deserve all praise
Weekly applause? No! Just PPE and a raise.
Posties, Farmers, Busmen and Food makers,
Supermarket lads and lasses, Butchers and Bakers,
Coppers, Binmen, Drivers and Foodbank folk
Keep this septic country from going broke.
Squaddies are helping to get us all tested
So, isolation shackles may be lifted…
Until then, lockdown breakers like Westminster Bridge
Stay home you fools with your overloaded fridge.
Was it you who bought all the gel and bog rolls?
Should get your collars felt by the numpty patrol.
One day in the future…if we are still here
We will look back to this time and our great fears
And judge whether fat cats came before compassion
Or economic worries outweighed oxygen rations
Failure to plan and stock up for a pandemic scene
Voted down Nurses pay to cheers by the mean
Decade of healthcare cuts and shaming disabled
‘We’re all in it together’ is just a fable.
So, will those ‘in charge’ face the fallout?
For them there should be no hideout.
Will Boris pull out some of his blonde locks?
It’s up to us at the next Ballot Box.
Write poems of all genres, particularly narrative writes about people, life events and the world we live in. Haikus and Tankas when I can. Like short stories too, a little drama and monologue works also in my stuff. Reside in the Dark Kingdom of Lancashire, England.