Arms Race

We've heard all about the stockpiling, the toilet rolls, lettuce and beans, but secretly more of this is going on unnoticed, and behind the scenes. The Government, in our best interests, (which translates they take us for mugs) have warehouses scattered all over the place in which they are stockpiling hugs. They've seen that we haven't been using our quota of hugs for a year, which normally we all quite freely discharge as a greeting, or after some beers. Close facing embracing, a clinch is a cinch, but all of our arms unemployed, since in this pandemic the orders are strict and so hugging we haven't enjoyed. So we live all our lives by the orders the Boffins have said is our guide, we greet with a bump of our elbows, but then our arms all hang limp by our sides. And while we all fight for survival and live by these laws as we must, all heaped up in stacks on their pallets, on racks are the millions of hugs gathering dust. But soon, when we're all vaccinated, and hope we're not killed in the rush, our arms will rise free, full of hugs, then we'll see loved ones short of breath in the crush. No longer will hugs be illegal, as torsos are all gladly squished, our arms will flap up like an Eagle's making up for the hugging we've missed.