Second Wave

So, we’ve been
in Lockdown
since March 23rd
Stay Home, Stay Safe
Government preaching
the word
Following ‘The Science’
Controlling the R
Social Distancing
Facetiming our parents
from afar
People in isolation
Looking out
at the world
from a pandemic
glass jar
Can’t see our parents
Can’t see our friends
Can’t see our kids
Can’t see our
way out
of this shit

Boris spouting his
propaganda
How we’ve kept
the death rate down
How we’ve reduced
the strain
on the NHS
Fucking hell
I know 32,000 dead
who wouldn’t agree
It’s the Science
It’s the Science
And what about
herd immunity
And you weren’t
one of the immune
Boris

Now restrictions are
being lifted
We can’t go out
but we can
We shouldn’t wear
masks but
we should
We can stand
in a park
with one friend
two metres apart
Jesus, the outdoors
Who’s going to
implement that then?
The police trading in
their truncheons
for tape measures?
What the fuck is
going on
at number 10?

Work at home
but go to work
Walk, walk, walk
I can’t get my
fat arse on a bike
Two cheeks fighting
It would be like
a punch up
in M & S pants
Does he think
that England
will know the steps
to his exit dance
Kids back at school
How the fuck
they gonna implement
the social distancing
rule
Pick their noses
Scratch their arses
Bite their Nailsies
Coronaviruses
The Critical Care beds
may be empty
But that sea’s
a coming
and it’s an enormous
Second
Fucking
Wave

Between the Wars

Indigo blue
Inky canvas
One eye open
The other protesting
The estate slumbers
Another day of lockdown
A neighbourhood painted
In shades of apathy
As the world mourns
Its sorry dead

Beryl wakes at the crow
Of the cockerel
Says hello to her husband
Enjoying a pint in Heaven
For the last twenty years
Says a prayer to the virgin Mary
And asks Jesus to save her soul
From the coronavirus
God is her insurance policy
As she ain’t finished yet
In this heathen world

It reminds her of the war
But the bombs don’t fall
And the men aren’t swallowed
Into certain suicide
She would cower inside the
Air raid shelter
As the Luftwaffe played
Russian roulette
Missiles raining down
Picking off saints and sinners alike
And she prayed to Jesus
And he did good

Now the bombs are silent
Yet the killer is stealth-like
Stealing souls
Like a pandemic shoplifter
Light fingered Kelly
Is in good company
Though I’m sure the virus
Ain’t interested in Maybelline
Or L’oreal

Churchill led the nation
Now we have the Tories
No let up from fear mongering
As the media perform
In their catastrophic circus
And the BBC peddle tragedy
Like Boris Johnson is MacBeth
Whilst the government deny
Their role
In digging mass graves
To herd the old
And vulnerable in

She tucks into her egg
And Tetley’s
Another day of inane daytime TV
She heard that people Facetime
But she has no tribe
Jesus is her saviour
And God is her father
And the Virgin Mary
Sheds a tear
For the children
She lost

©2020 Sarah Drury

GLASS CAGE

Anyone else feel like this?

GLASS CAGE

Another day
Of endless shit
Staring out at futility
Trapped inside my glass cage
Eyes wide open
Yet the world is shut
And I just want to see folk
So that I can engage
I feel like I’m speaking
A monologue
Like the only character
On a storybook page
Treading the boards
In a sick horror drama
Acting out my existence
On the pandemic stage

My glass heart is pure
Yet my blood runs tainted
My shiny glass cage
Has crystal bars
They’re fragile
Yet my soul can’t break them
There’s a transparent ceiling
So I can gaze at the stars
I’m lost and lonely
In my Swarovski world
But does anyone give a fuck
Does anyone care
Where does love go
When it is quarantined?
I fantasise at night
When I fall up the stairs
That they who explode
To pieces the loudest
Are the only ones
Who really dare
To admit to wearing
The crazy straight jacket
Drinking in the madness
From this bitter, fucked up air.

I can’t get out of
This black headspace
I’m trapped in a nightmare
Locked windows and doors
I’m slipping around
In a trifle of sorrow
And pacing around
On unstable floors
The TV is blaring
Its mind numbed rhetoric
The government machine
Relentlessly pours
Propaganda, propaganda
Unending propaganda
Seeping Covid statistics
Onto gaping, raw sores
And I’m fighting an enemy
Without ammunition
In this no man’s land
Of invisible wars.

© 2020 Sarah Drury

We are Great Britain

Well, we are in the midst of a global pandemic. Covid-19 has infiltrated every aspect of our lives! Here in Great Britain, we are in lockdown. At the moment we can only leave our houses for essential food shopping, collecting medication and one session of exercise a day. It may get even more confined as the virus reaches its peak. I never thought I would ever see anything on this scale in my lifetime. It is like a war but we cannot see the invisible enemy and we have no defence except quarantine. Here is my ode to Great Britain…

We are Great Britain
We are the brave and afraid
United in our fight against
A silent killer, invisible to our curtailed eyes
We thrive in times of compromise
A resilient nation
Born of grandfathers who knew no word but pride
The haunting times of war
Back then are echoed in this fight against the silent enemy
A nightmare we are living
But a dream that silhouettes itself in cloaks we cannot see
A dream that does not differentiate between the screams of you and me.

For we are Great Britain
We grit our teeth and keep our fears beneath
Our trembling egos
Hiding our terror
Hoping these draconian measures aren’t forever
Hoping the doors in the outside world
Aren’t closed for business for too long
Braving the wrath of the food shops
Gritting our teeth and staying strong
As the mindless stockpile food
And the homeless are left to die in the gutter
And toilet rolls become a priceless commodity
And the pockets of the pharmaceutical companies just become fatter
As the ugliness of humanity rears its head in wanton greed
And we don’t give a shit about the rest of the people
As long as our family’s arses will be clean
We will worship in secular churches without a heavenly steeple
And you can say that they’re selfish
You can say that they’re mean
But it’s self preservation in a global scheme
Of fear.

For we are Great Britain
We cower behind our green front doors
Like animals trapped in cages
Zoo specimens walking on two feet instead of four
We keep our doors tightly shut against the bacteria and sickness
We wash our hands ten hundred times a day
We sanitise, we obliterate, we obsessively
Scrub our justified fears and insecurities away
Don’t touch that infected door
Don’t stand near me less than two metres
Don’t let the kids go out to play
Don’t breathe your dirty air
Don’t let the family come and stay

For we are Great Britain
As we watch our Boris on TV and he tries to lead a nation
Against an enemy we cannot see
Each night he makes a brave and science informed declaration
But deep beneath his bravado
He must be feeling the sting of condemnation
He never signed up for this shit
He never had a notion
He would become an icon
In a state of emergency

For we are Great Britain
We are parents battling with home education
We are fans battling with no footy on tv
We are nurses tending the desperate and sick
We are doctors fighting this pandemic, this nightmare that’s running free
We are the shopkeepers keeping the nation fed
We are the care workers tending the sick and weak
We are the teachers teaching the kids whose parents
Are sacrificing their health
These selfless beings, what a risk to take
And the volunteers who their comfort and safety have swapped
We are the drivers getting food to your shops
For the benefit of this country
And we salute you all
In a time where even the strong can fall
We salute you Great Britain
We will get through this
And we will get to the finishing line
Still standing proud and tall.

©2020 Sarah Drury

Prime Shop to Let

Our little town is turning into a ghost town!
Warning, swearing.

Prime Shop to Let

Prime shop to let
As I walk through this ghost town centre
Prime shop to let
Prime shop to let.
Arrogant
As though they have the monopoly
Over the other shops
Who were once prime
Once to let
Now buckling under the weight of a money sucking landlord
And saying fuck you to Amazon Prime and the inventor of the World Wide Web.

Prime shop to let
To let
Toilet
That always amused me as a kid.
As though the empty walls were vessels for the shit that hit the fan
When the profits plummeted
And the game was up
And shop doors shut
And shop doors shut

And they are shutting
And they are shutting
In Scunthorpe.
Faster than the council can raise the council tax
Faster than the homeless’ belongings are confiscated by the police
Faster than the shoplifter’s legs when the shopkeeper gave chase
Faster than a line of coke up a druggy’s nose.
Faster than you can spell the cunt in Scunthorpe.

You can hear the rattle of the grim reaper’s bones
As he loiters with his scythe
Waiting, waiting
Chalk bone fingers cracking gleefully
Waiting, waiting
As the death bells knoll
and austerity takes its toll
and retail is just another rag doll
that the voodoo government have stuck their pins in
that the voodoo government have tossed around
like they don’t give a shit.
Because this is Scunthorpe and not Sandringham.

Scunthorpe
You may as well become a dot com
for the doors are shutting
the doors are shutting
and we don’t want any more charity shops
and even the poundshops aren’t pulling in the punters.
It’s all strolling around in your second hand coat
with your greasy kebab and your lottery ticket
and hoping you’ll get the bonus ball
when you’ll celebrate with a bottle of cheap Prosecco from Aldi
and a smiling photo in the Scunthorpe Telegraph.
Even the paper used to be nightly
But there’s only enough news for one week now.
And its always the same news. Always the same.

Prime shop to let.
Prime shop to let.
Prime town to let.

It’s sad.

© 2019 Sarah Drury

DLA

Here in the UK, DLA (short for Disability Living Allowance) is a benefit given out to people with long term illnesses and disabilities. The assessment and judging criteria are getting ridiculous and there have been many cases of needy people getting deemed ‘fit for work’. DLA has mostly been replaced by PIP (Personal Independence Payment). Having a serious mental illness, this is my own experience…

DLA

Come on in, come on in
Take a paltry plastic seat
I’ll be judgemental and discreet
We’ll get your disability claim
Set in concrete
Get these government lies complete.
Can you walk unaided – fifty metres?
A hundred?
Without a walking stick?
Do you wake up and you’ve pissed the bed
Do your psychiatric meds make you sick?
And who does your cooking when you’re alone at home?
Do you cook like that celebrity Gordon Ramsey
Or is it a Chinese takeaway over the telephone?
Is your knee replacement made of chrome?

Do you walk with a pronounced limp?
Do your friends take the piss, do they call you a wimp?
Do you use a motorized wheelchair?
I’m sure you know we really don’t care.
As we watch and we wait in our catch you out lair.
We really don’t give a shit
If your mind is split, if your wrists you’ve slit, if you’ve lost your grit.
We just want to prove you are fit for work
As bitch faced assessor sits there with a demonic smirk.
and the government machine that is full of jerks.

Can you reach the kitchen light?
That’s ten points off, we are always right.
You don’t deserve this benefit handout
We don’t care about your shitty plight
We don’t care that you have to live to fight
Every fucking day and night.
Do you take your crazy meds?
Dd you hear, you faker, what I said?
Do you wake all night or sleep restlessly in your bed?
Can I see inside your lying, denying head?

Because we will catch you out
We will surely catch you out
And we will bring down the weight of our wrath
And you will suffer, you will go without.
Are you crazy all the time?
Is your mind out of line
With reality and is your grasp on sanity fine?
Because you’re wasting your precious time and mine
If you think the insane deserve a quality of life
Living your life on the edge of a serrated knife
Causing society lunatic bullshit and strife.

We don’t give handouts to manic depressives
We don’t give handouts to anyone
Who doesn’t fit into our point scoring criteria.
We just fuck them off and send them to monetary Siberia.
And show us the scores on the doors Irene
And you don’t score the Jackpot, not today, drama queen!
We are the DWP
We don’t give our dosh to any old blagger
It’s never you but always me, me, me
Our purse is full of bullshit not sickness money
Whatever you say falls on deaf ears and granite hearts
You will see

So, take your precious health
It’s not a passport to cushy wealth
You are the scourge of society
In this life nothing is free
Nothing is fucking free.

© Sarah Drury 2019

Taking away my working tax credits

Working tax credit

My working tax credit, my working tax credit
They’re taking away my working tax credit!
They say I am working, that I am a poet
That poetry pays well and don’t they just know it.
I‘m earning too much and that I am a big hit
Don’t they know that they’ve put me right in the fat pig shit.
Money don’t grow on trees, you can’t fake it or grow it
And with Brexit a coming we all will be poor Brits
And being a poet, the tax scapegoat coat fits
I’ll be selling my body to pilots in cockpits
If the tossers don’t sort it out.

My working tax credit, my working tax credit
They’re taking away my working tax credit
And soon I’ll be living on bacon and beans
With a side dish of spam for I won’t afford greens
And a glass of tap water for lager is pricy
And the men at the foodbank are rugged and spicy
And the chips at the chippy are soggy and dicey
And the price of a haddock makes it highly unlikely
That I will eat a decent meal
If the tossers don’t sort it out.

My working tax credit, my working tax credit
They’re taking away my working tax credit
And soon I’ll be wearing the bones of me arse
So it looks like Primark cos my knickers are sparse
And buying from Oxfam is a bleedin farce
Cos they’ve got no fat trousers to cover me arse.
And the blouses don’t cover my ample tits
And I feel suicidal when nothing good fits.
So a naked poet I will be
if the tossers don’t sort it out.

My working tax credit, my working tax credit
They’re going to stop my working tax credit
Boris, I bet you don’t have to sign on
With your arse on your chair in your capitalist lair
and your tory possie pushing more into poverty
You’re all heartless bastards, you really don’t care
and the children are starving and benefits are sanctioned
and the country is fucked and the system’s not fair.
So get off your arses you idle pen pushers
And sort out my money – NOW!

© Sarah Drury 2019