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

Yoga

I have only tried Yoga once, but it went something like this….

I have a golden Buddha
and he spoke to me
He thought it time
I broaden my spirituality
So, I vowed to go to a yoga class

Well I walked into the room
and there were twenty women
with their attitudes crass
and their notions of privilege
and pretentious class
And I knew all along
they were eyeing up
my fat ass
in all its lycra glory

I knew Buddha would’ve been
very disappointed
in these women
Who think they
have been appointed
the right to hold
their prejudice
in their judgmental minds
Where are the
spiritual tenets of
being generous, being kind?
Being human?

Flexibility is not my strong point
I can’t get my leg behind my ear
I daren’t do that for fear
I would fart
or split my pants
If they want me to do
the eight angle Astavakrasana
I haven’t got
a fucking chance
I’m more a reclining
sort of person

I don’t think my can of Pepsi
went down too well
For them it was some sort
of sugary hell
With their bottles
of Aqua Vitae
and their sorry snacks
Ecologically friendly
cardboard packs
Full of calorie hate
Poncey quinoa
Apricots and dates
And I may as well have
pulled a coronary out of
my bag when
I took out my
Mars Bar

I’ve said to Buddha
Yoga’s not for me
I will meditate
I will become a fucking tree
I was getting so bloody
irate
at the pretension
I couldn’t cope with the
amount of negative attention
I was getting as a
‘Fat bitch’
So I left

Maybe I will try quinoa though…

©2020 Sarah Drury

Hairless

These lockdown times! I bet by the end of it, half of us will look like we never set foot in a hairdressers or beauty salon in our lives. My razor sits untouched on the sink, it’s been there for weeks. But you know, I just don’t care. Being stuck within four walls, with limited social contact, I haven’t felt the need to be primping and preening every day. It makes me think, jus who are we doing it for? Us? Are we shamed into believing that we are not ‘normal’ if we don’t render ourselves hairless? Or not beautiful? Do we live our lives constantly feeding into media hype on the standards of beauty? Are we afraid of ridicule and rejection?

A poem:

Hairless

The razor sits there
On the sink
Looking forlorn
Day after day
Like a predator
of feminine power
reborn

Lockdown lethargy
Won’t be seeing a lover
Can always cover
my stubble
But why the fuck
should I?
I don’t need self isolation
to prove myself
to another

Smooth armpits
Smooth legs
Smooth fannies
Smooth chins
Smooth moustaches
Red lips
Killer false eyelashes
Supermarket dashes
for razors
and baby lotion

That razor’s been
sitting there a
very long time
Since I was a girl
and the magazines
said I would be pretty
if I was hairless
Look at me now
My fanny’s a big hairy mess
my cheese grater legs
don’t give a fuck
I don’t care
I don’t want to caress
anyone who cares less
of me
because I won’t dress
my body
in false aspirations

Who feels the need
for pretty?
Is it me?
Do I look in that mirror
and see
a monster
created by the media
fuelled by misogyny
I’m not a fucking fairy
on a Christmas tree

So, fuck you, razor
Fuck you!

©2020 Sarah Drury

CoronaKid

I was thinking how hard it is for our kids at the moment, having to be locked away constantly, hiding from an invisible enemy. Their whole world has been turned upside down! My son has it especially tough as there are only the two of us in the house and i suffer with bipolar disorder and anxiety issues, and he has autism and challenging behaviour so it’s like a pressure cooker at times!

Here’s a poem I’ve written for spoken word, seeing life in Coronavirus times through his eyes.

MILD SWEARING

It’s a bit shit
Couped up
Coronakid
Walled up in a council tomb
Tempers flaring
Like a pressure cooker lid
Wishing there were dos
Which don’t
Which must
Which can’t
Which didn’t
Which did

Walls seem scary
When your life is really
Coronation Street
Without a plot
Hours which seem
Like days
Which seem
Like years
Which seems
Like concepts
That I’ve not yet fully got
Mum’s ready to blow
I’m really so, so worried
That the going’s
Got so hot
Feelings churned
Around like
Psycho soup
In a perpetual
Emotional boiling pot.

No school
No mates
No welcoming
Playground gates
But then I hated school
Mum tries her best
But she’s not
Getting rest
Her moods are
Tending to be
Hot not cool
I give her shit
Because I’d rather sit
And waste
My days away
Fuck this home ed shit
School’s bollocks
All I want to do
Is fucking play
But all my momma
Has to say is
Do your bloody work
Or there’s
No PlayStation
Today

I miss my family
And my friends
It’s like looking in
A claustrophobic mirror
Seeing our two faces
Day after day
Like a glitch in the matrix
Like a horrifying error
And I don’t know
What’s worse
In my life
The insane boredom
Or the
Abominable terror
Cos we’re in
An invisible war
And it feels like
We’re fighting on
Forever
and ever

©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

Iceland

I wrote this poem as a spoken word piece, in response to this coronavirus pandemic, through the eyes of an elderly person who has lived through world war two.

Five hundred quid
Worked all my life for five hundred quid
Ooo, these Tena ladies are on offer
Worked my hands to the bone and my back to the knackers yard, I did
Funny times we live in, funny times
Corona-whatsit rampant, country in lockdown
Just like the war
Our big grown prime minister falling to the floor
Sick people in and out the revolving doors
Crying and dying on hospital floors
People telling me to stay indoors
Only so much of Piers Morgan I can take
And I’m bleeding sick of doing chores
Ooo look, choccy digestives, two for one fifty
Just like the war
But not living on a lump of cheese, a tin of spam and a packet of dried egg
Bring back rationing, it should be the law
All these feckin crazy people
Strippin shelves bare
Hoarding the toilet roll like they don’t care
About how others fare
Oh, I’ll have some of those
Rice pudding, fifty pence a tin
Its strange times, its mad times we’re in
Can’t even go down the bingo
Can’t remember the last time I had a win
Hair like a Brillo pad, legs like scourers
Can’t remember the last time I plucked the hairs on my chin
It does this to you
All this social isolation
Wrapping clingfilm around a rebellious nation
And the government have this mental expectation
That we will be sheep
Clothed in the wool of allegation
Don’t go out
Wash your hands
Keep two metres between you
Do as we say, or we’ll impose a curfew
It’s just like the war
Except you don’t have to don your guns
And kill a visible enemy
We’re fighting something global we can’t even see
All we have to do is stay inside and watch the death tolls on TV
And I pray every day that one of those intensive care beds won’t be me.
Ooo loo roll
I’ll need that
Back in the war I’d wipe my bum with newspaper
The stories of the day plastered over my derriere
My neighbour popping by to see if I had some spare
And the air raid sirens would scream
And we’d be woken from our dreams
Of victory
Playing hide and seek with the bombs that rained down
Dot to dot on the roofs of the houses of our little town
Taking refuge in the shelters
Taking refuge in the neighbours
Taking refuge in the strangers
And though we were fighting for freedom
We were still free
Oh, tinned fruit cocktail
Will do for my trifle
Put it in my cupboard full
Of empty shelves
In my kitchen of a lonely life.
Better go home now
Better go home.

©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