THE GREAT PANIC During the great toilet paper panic that gripped this fine nation in 2020, I saw two women, fear in their eyes, clutching hard-won supermarket treasure to their breasts with both arms, as if cradling babies: two rolls of kitchen paper each

THE GREAT PANIC

During the great toilet paper panic
that gripped this fine nation in 2020,
I saw two women, fear in their eyes,
clutching hard-won supermarket treasure
to their breasts with both arms,
as if cradling babies:
two rolls of kitchen paper each.

Faces hopeful, they asked
‘We’re looking for hand sanitiser?’
A weary chemist’s assistant shrugged.
‘Nope. None. We’ve run out.’
She had answered this query all day.

The women stood there, desolate.
Where could they turn now?

Soon there’ll be furtive touts on street corners
selling contraband tissues,
if only you can pay the price;
or peddling tales of Aladdin’s caves:
warehouses stuffed to bursting with loo paper,
vats of hand-made sanitiser,
to tease our fearful dreams.

Gone are the heady days of Australia’s gold rush.
The great toilet paper rush of 2020
gathers momentum. Then
the people will revolt. Their flag?
An honoured cross of white paper,
stitched sheet by perforated sheet,
Eureka stars of soft white tissue.
And the toilet rolls will all be liberated,
return to the longing, empty shelves
to patriotic cheers and tears of joy,
so anxious women can smile again.

But like its precursor revolution in Ballarat,
this stand will inspire valiant deeds
and the sad slaughter of innocents.
When will the madness end?