Killing Time. a poem by Hazel Urquhart

No-ones asking
for heroes
or super-fucking-powers.
Just a fighting chance,
enough ventilators
(and masks).

Society’s clutching
its last strand of sanity,
ripped out at the roots
in frustrated rage.

Reality? Should have
its license revoked,
along with the jokers
calling the shots.

I’ve seen horror movies
offer more hope.

Humanity reveals
its tainted underside
reckless protesters
assemble to give
ignorance a chance.

Vague regulations
social distance resistance
encourages the selfish
who couldn’t care less

about the widows they make
for freedom’s sake.

Pandemonium weakens
to washed-out dismay.
Astonishment fades
to shady complacency.

Take a bite of the news,
try and swallow the bile
acerbic indigestion
a bitter reward
for your time.

Truth’s an alien concept
to the trusted elected.

High-born sociopaths
(or game-show hosts)
play with thousands
of lives, the stakes
have never been higher.

It’s no witty affair
when empathy’s scarce.

So, take yourself for a walk
your once-a-day jaunt.
Mind, set a brisk pace
keep depression
at bay, for a while.

It’s killing time.