White lung. Effect of being infected.
The now dead doctor talked of his patients
dying from the virus, so affected.
His anger with those in charge was immense.

No doubt they did not act quickly enough.
And tried to keep secret the full extent.
That doctor’s tirade included mistrust.
Little action, he could see, to prevent.

Yet more and more he saw with those white lungs.
Unable to breathe, their death consequent.
Action, it appeared to him, as if none.
Too slow to understand. Too negligent.

The State too lumbering. Him, the front-line.
Trying to open eyes which then were blind.


Need to make love because of the virus.
It’s going to affect a lot of us.
We should free-up restraints inside of us,
and make love with whom we find desirous.

We’re told, with the virus, we are at war.
Not the same situation as before.
Effect of the fever cannot be sure.
But one’s love may not be seen anymore.

Troops, soon to be at the front, are allowed.
To moral restriction, can be unbowed.
In the circumstances, those disavowed.
Love in the moment, be what this entails.

Whoever it’s for, whether him or her,
incumbent on us to love a bit more.


I kissed her and she gave me the virus.
Transmission through the lips and breath, I trust.
My own fault for being so desirous.
Put it down, I suppose, to my own lust.

Her look was temptation personified.
Risk of being infected, put aside.
On the likelihood would not, I relied,
But with the symptoms I’ve been compromised.

It means I’m running a temperature.
Am not cool and unbothered anymore.
When will get over it, not very sure.
This, from a kiss. I think I deserve more.

Told now there must be social distancing.
May get sick, but still keen on her kissing.


I realise that my mood remains dark.
Impending disaster influences.
The possibility fate may be stark,
on the balance of probabilities.

I cannot alter my circumstances,
aspects of which, aggravating factors.
So seems like I have to take my chances.
Not count, though, as mitigating factors.

It will be a matter of luck and fate,
whether able to survive this bleakness.
If it depends on how I operate,
cannot betray those, who in me, most trust.

I know I feel it as existential.
The darkness, to my mind, consequential.


Cannot self-isolate. Cannot do it.
It is distressing I’m unable to.
Not that deliberately eschew it.
Just commitments I’m required to see through.

I try to distance myself from others,
but it is impossible to be sure.
Not far away now, I see the numbers.
If catch a dose don’t know if I’ll endure.

No objection to being on my own.
Could relax. I have ways to pass the time.
I’d be quite amenable to stay home.
Day and night there, I really wouldn’t mind.

But have to get out and do what I must.
There is fate, but in luck I have to trust.


Death forthcoming. No mercy. Misery.
The estimates are unpleasantly high.
Distinctive the danger, demonstrably.
To me, and my loved one, may not pass by.

At some point, then, go down with the disease.
Likely not avoid, or get a reprieve.
Death, as all know, one of life’s certainties.
But sooner than wish, the process proceed.

Not need any further explanation.
Will exploit my susceptibility.
A ‘force majeure’, then, self-isolation,
as assaults my vulnerability.

Death, at any time soon, can choose to take,
via particle cast to decimate.

Week 1
Week 3