Poems of the Week


by Nina Parmenter

As Boris Johnson reveals that the new “made in the UK” strain of coronavirus “may be”
30% more deadly, the nation wonders what to do with that information.

Should I tighten my mask by three notches
and scrub til my palms are gone?
Should I cut down my frivolous outings
by a third of precisely none?
Should I distance by eight foot, not six foot
and then firmly resolve to be
more scared in the still before sunrise
by a factor of 1.3?

Should I ramp up the size of my sourdough?
Go from three mugs of wine to four?
As I juggle the schooling and Zooming,
should I shrivel inside some more?
Should I work more at missing my mother
and then firmly resolve to be
more cross with the wankers of Whitehall
by a factor of 1.3?