Do we have to wait till flaming June?

Once upon a midday dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, To watch more Netflix or venture a cautious foot outside my door — While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my long-shut door. ‘Tis some mere raven,’ I muttered, ‘tapping at my long-shut door — Only this and nothing more.’

How suspicious and how wary I approached that January, With all my dreams of freedom lying shattered on the floor. Eagerly I wished the summer — winter lockdown such a bummer Brain steadfastly getting dumber — dumber as I thought no more. Boris and ‘the science’ maintaining dubious furore — Whilst shut in here behind my door.

As the world had shrunk around me, narrowed to my close surroundings, The sole excitement of my week a visit to the store, My house was now my whole utopia, vision narrowed near myopia, A feeding frenzy for agoraphobia — emotions running raw. The world outside seemed scary and I forgot my life before, My house, my street but nothing more.

I’ve read my books and done my jigsaws, obeyed Boris. But as spring thaws Staying in has somewhat lost its residual draw. Banana bread is now lacklustre, I’m done with all the flustering bluster.

The NHS less of a cluster as vaccine take-up soars, My heart frenetic as I watch the briefing it deplores, Quoth Matt Hancock: ‘Stay indoors.’

But Boris dear, my lord and master, if you wish to avert disaster, Unlock in June if not somewhat faster as public will implores. Rishi’s Budget proved revealing, showing the financial cost of shielding, The Bank of England bust and bleeding and taxes due to soar, I’ll work until I’m 80 to pay for the largesse we’ve adored. We couldn’t take home schooling any more.

So the public never flitting still is sitting, still committing, Zooming, baking, life forsaking, locked still down behind our doors, But our minds have started scheming, of social plans we’ve started dreaming, Weddings, pubs and disco clubs; perchance some trip to sunlit shores My hair is wild I want it styled for degenerate plans galore, To lockdown we say — nevermore!