Covid Lamb – C J Mawganson

They said that he died, the old man from the flats

Diabetic and eighty, he fitted the stats

An ambulance came, was a call from his daughter

They took him away, Covid lamb to the slaughter

Connected by wires to machines made by Dyson

No time for goodbye or a kiss from his grandson

‘We did all we could, please prepare for the worst’

They’ve said it so often the lines feel rehearsed

Another bed empty, another one bagged

Another confirmed, another toe tagged.

No poem by Auden, no black horse with feathers

The only respects are for distancing measures

We scuttle from houses like terrified spiders

To clap the front line, as it serves to remind us

We’re here, still alive, and not yet met our fate

Then return to our fears at one-minute past eight.