Poems

Roger G McDonald: ‘Phoney war’ and ‘Last supper’

Phoney war

For weeks we had history’s second phoney war.
Instructions from the strategists came late
In military terms some had heard before:
“Keep calm.” “Carry on.” “Hurry up and wait.”
Would lock-down be imposed? Would schools shut down?
Everyone knew everything; none was wiser.
Concern spread through every city and town,
Sparking runs on soap and sanitiser.
Fights broke out over toilet paper rolls.
Some staples—rice and pasta—disappeared
As shops began to introduce controls.
Sanitary products went. And condoms! Weird!
The plainest explanation, one suspects,
Is lock-down boredom drives a lust for sex.

Roger G McDonald

 

 

Last supper

We went to friends with air-kisses and waves
At respectable, social distances,
And shared a meal before becoming slaves
To isolation. There were instances
Of humour (mostly dark) amid the talk
Of pending doom; of the apocalypse;
Of an uncaring agent sent to stalk
The planet while we downed our final sips.
The last supper finished, we wondered when,
Or even if, this hospitality,
So strained and altered, would ever hum again.
Or was this our future reality?
We walked into the furtive, viral air,
Air-kissed once more, and waved away despair.

Roger G McDonald

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