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Part 2: Autumn 2020
Still reeling, spinning in this great sadness,
the strains of a distant virus veer us towards
an autumn of austerity, anxiety.
Towards a ring a round of facemasks,
a handful of sanitiser.
No symptoms, no symptoms
So many, fall down!
In the blink of two weeks, the budget and the imperative are in reverse:
From “Evacuate! just leave home!
To “Isolate! Just stay home!” Just stay on the line at home!
(Do not line up at Centrelink!)
Pollies pontificate, calculate, finally COLLABORATE!
Obediently the people self-isolate!
From their stage, heads of state Postulate.
Self-congratulate!
Bump elbows, shake hands!
“Didn’t they just say…?”
Ours is not to reason why?
Ours is not to make reply.
Ours is but to” …try not to die!
Don’t forget to wash your hands mate!
Before you thumb through the scripted flipchart of
‘Canned Responses to Difficult Journos'.
“Hang it all, surf’s up in Bondi!”
Beach is closed!
Ours is but to …self-isolate, ruminate, procrastinate.
Teach our children, debate the merits of yet more screens.
More screens, but no screening for the virus, yet!
Panicked, people hoard loo rolls, pasta and rice.
“Stop it! Just stop it! It’s unAustralian”.
Profiteering politicians hoard oil.
Store it! We’ll store it in Trump Barrels
It’s for Australia!
In collective insanity we vacillate
now racked by global grief,
now laughing hysterically at bald faced hypocrisy.
But mostly, we feel loss.
The acute loss of those who die ALONE.
A loss exacerbated by the callous disregard
for the common man and the uncomfortable,
fidgeting silence across the Atlantic.
Season upon season of sadness
we isolate, hibernate, separate.
Separately desperate we medicate on caffeine and wine.
Trying not to whinge and whine, for we are the lucky ones.
As it turns out, today we are the lucky ones!
Still reeling, spinning in this great sadness,
the strains of a distant virus veer us towards
an autumn of austerity, anxiety.
Towards a ring a round of facemasks,
a handful of sanitiser.
No symptoms, no symptoms
So many, fall down!
In the blink of two weeks, the budget and the imperative are in reverse:
From “Evacuate! just leave home!
To “Isolate! Just stay home!” Just stay on the line at home!
(Do not line up at Centrelink!)
Pollies pontificate, calculate, finally COLLABORATE!
Obediently the people self-isolate!
From their stage, heads of state Postulate.
Self-congratulate!
Bump elbows, shake hands!
“Didn’t they just say…?”
Ours is not to reason why?
Ours is not to make reply.
Ours is but to” …try not to die!
Don’t forget to wash your hands mate!
Before you thumb through the scripted flipchart of
‘Canned Responses to Difficult Journos'.
“Hang it all, surf’s up in Bondi!”
Beach is closed!
Ours is but to …self-isolate, ruminate, procrastinate.
Teach our children, debate the merits of yet more screens.
More screens, but no screening for the virus, yet!
Panicked, people hoard loo rolls, pasta and rice.
“Stop it! Just stop it! It’s unAustralian”.
Profiteering politicians hoard oil.
Store it! We’ll store it in Trump Barrels
It’s for Australia!
In collective insanity we vacillate
now racked by global grief,
now laughing hysterically at bald faced hypocrisy.
But mostly, we feel loss.
The acute loss of those who die ALONE.
A loss exacerbated by the callous disregard
for the common man and the uncomfortable,
fidgeting silence across the Atlantic.
Season upon season of sadness
we isolate, hibernate, separate.
Separately desperate we medicate on caffeine and wine.
Trying not to whinge and whine, for we are the lucky ones.
As it turns out, today we are the lucky ones!