Panic

Panic

Last winter someone heard a snowflake drop

They were feeling full of anguished dread

So they rushed down to the supermarket

And they bought up fifty loaves of bread

And milk enough to last for thirty days

That emptied all the shelves

Not worrying about anyone else

Just looking out for their selfish selves

And now there’s something in the air

With origins that are rare and vague

There’s infection and contagion

There’s coming pestilence and plague

And suddenly everybody’s short of stock

Of hand-sanitiser and liquid soap

And merely trying to buy toilet rolls

They’re running out of hope

For they fear the bugs and beasties

The things that will make them ill

So they’re stocking up with drugs,

With potions and every kind of pill

They’re hoarding many types of pasta

All across the British Isles

They don’t trust the old supply-chains

They’re busy fighting in the aisles

Wringing hands and ringing tills

Panic-buying, Headless Chicken Syndrome

Soon they’ll be in self-isolation

Siege mentality, holed-up in their home

Locked up and in a total lock-down

No more touching or social contact

Forever washing their hands

The odds against them all are stacked

So we’ve had the forty days of floods

There’s a chance that we’ll all go bust

And now we’ve got this pestilence -

What next? – a swarm of locusts?

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2020