O phial from astra Zeneca we adore you,
the first drops made in Europe
by ports and threats and paperwork.
Millions more expected, so they say
as they sit around a table and nod
their heads with Eton wisdom, while
thousands and thousands and more
sicken daily, and a thousand and more
die from a disease limited as much
as the Canute faced, ocean tide.
We play hide and seek with a
ranging minotaur while some
take their lead from a leader who
behaves as if life is all a prank, so
they party and prance around as if
they are the only ones who matter.
Self-centred, egotistically bound
they carpet their parties with the
dead, the sick and the grieving. But
no one sees or notices the old lady
dying from a virus in her own room.
And watching the
Icarus antics in the cabinet room,
they swerve away from common
sense, and dutifully fulfil the will
taking the excuse to erode the hard
won rights of women, children and
increase the burden on the struggling,
and see their own untaxed moneys
grow into mountains the sick carry.