There once was a illness from China
That spread through contact and saliva
Now we drink way too much
And stay inside to avoid touch
I’ll be a drunk at the end of this virus

March was the swelling, the cracking, grey clouds on the horizon ready to swallow
April was the storm that washed us under, held our heads down and told us to count to ten
May is the aftermath, the leftovers, the flood and rain have passed, but what now
What do we do with all the scraps and broken bits
Do we just make fires and wait
Like Noah in his boat
Watching the looming clouds
And counting to ten

sufficiently scrubbing
simple soap
strips stealthy virus’s
slick, lipid skin—
surfactants sending
sabotaged virus
slip sliding sewer bound!



© 2020 Mark Toney.  All rights reserved.

One. I ask my Dad what day it is, again. Two. I had a nightmare that our block of flats was exploding whilst I ran away, do you think this reflects my fear of the virus, doc? Three. Chocolate porridge at 2pm, maybe its a bit late for porridge. Four. I think I accidentally chucked my propranolol tablets into the bin. Five. I take a bike ride round the village and I get intrusive thoughts about knocking over old people, on purpose, for fun. Six. I’m back to the flat and the ceiling looks like it’s lower than usual, did I grow a few inches? Seven. I can’t remember the last time I saw Emma, must have been when she cried in Wetherspoons, someone crying with you is better than no friend. Eight. My breathing turns shallow I think, I check my symptoms. Nine. I imagine dying of it and look back at my twenty-five years like a montage and get really overwhelmed and then I start to watch an old Mickey Mouse cartoon on my laptop. Ten. I just spotted a really plump pigeon outside. Eleven. Is this how hamsters feel, trapped inside with a few things to stimulate them. If so, I’m so sorry Martin (my old hamster). Twelve. The frustration sets in like thick molasses filling in the grooves of my soft brain. Thirteen. I turn to drawing and just end up sketching a huge mouth swallowing a rat. Fourteen. It’s bedtime and I settle down with a book. American ******. Patrick just killed a dog and it set me off sobbing. Fifteen.  I close my eyes and wish for a better day tomorrow. Is it going to be Tuesday or Wednesday?

Socially distanced he whispered,

"it says covid on the death certificate,

but I'm not a sap,

it was the clap".

I could really use one of the many conversations we used to have right now

But you aren't here
And you don't want to be around

Some days it feels like the world has twisted
Like the earth took a wrong rotation
Then it tried to fix it
but something didn't quite fit
There must be a crack somewhere
Where we all keep stumbling
One after another, day after day
Like a pile of dominoes
Welcome to the year 2020
20 dominoes that fell down
1...2...3...4...
20 things that went wrong

Hasn’t this all happened before?
Or, I mean; isn’t it all happening again?
Did I read the same story in a book once?
Or see it on a large screen?
Didn’t I dream this or hear someone telling it in passing?
This whole thing is so familiar
It’s told the rule of law is lost
To power once again
As if
As if it never escaped
Destruction comes swiftly
She-go dreams of silly futures that can’t be real
Don’t fool yourself
He says I fall away
And so you do
So I can see

There are those who thrive in chaos
And those who seek the end of paper cranes
parading as sky replacers
Those who throw their bodies to the winds of change
Who would trade lives for truth and ending lies
Because lying lives aren’t living real at all
If you forget where you came from before it all sunk in
then you have to forget where you got to underneath all the sink

Maybe we won’t ever be able to go back to what?
How it used to be?
Humans have always weaponized their own bodies
And to what end?
What if the virus likes us and wants to stay
And spread out a bit just like we did
What if Americans for some odd reason
Maybe their diet high in saturated fats and sugar
Make the perfect biosphere Rona likes for chillin and relaxin?

Like the ripe midwestern plains
Lookin juicy and ready for the pickins
By our forefathers and their children
Just like that Rona can’t really see
how much pain and awful suffering
she and her thriving offspring
been causin us Americans
She doesn’t really care either
cuz she’s been roaming all over the world
Searching for a suitable place to rest
after just arriving
on this new wonderful world
Rona once thought she heard called human
Though she preferred to think of it as home