Poetry of Issue #8        Page 53

Pandemic Pandemonium from the Epicenter

Everyone’s divided
Everyone’s choosing sides
Any move towards the middle
Is seen as an act of treason or suicide

Not everyone’s taking a stand
Many are content
To hide their heads in the sand
Other’s throw up their hands
They just don’t understand

Few know what’s at stake
They let supporters of the status quo
Make the same mistakes

People will do what they please
Without compunction
Just as sure as we’re slaves
To our bodily functions

It’s obvious for all to see
There is no secure location available
For you to rest with your dreams
We are the results of our evasions

When we were young, the Vietnam War
Thinned out the ranks of the baby boomers
We being killed off by the Covid 19 Virus
During our golden years
In this election year of fear

  Drew Marshall