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Corona Comes

Corona claws your deep-fear door, a wily wolf sniffing for prey,
sick-snarly behind its lamb-meek facade.
It can't believe its luck - opportunistic thief
at the door, happy to find you home.

Funereal florist fashioning a coronal of funeral flowers,
its corona of white lily-light a stealthy disguise.
Never a halo, it sneers in the face of angels,
rams down a thorny crown.

It speaks in wheezy tones, spokes
turning in lungs. Its crazy-cogs churn your gut,
cranking up the fear-gears.
It's a killer following you home, fear-fingers

poised to sudden-circle your throat.
It's always a fevered climax when Corona comes,
tonguing your body in molten mania,
shuddering and sticky with sweat.

Corona rampages a supermarket sweep,
swipes it all with filching fingers. Demon of doorways,
it lurks in aisles and alleys, tenebrous terrorist
on the breeze of a sneeze; bodies for the taking.

And suddenly your night-silent street is a nightclub
of flashing blue lights, neighbours watching neighbours
carried out; tears behind blinds, stockpiled supplies
sent clattering by panic's hand

like pawns being swept from a chessboard.
They're pawns in a game they don't understand.
There's nothing to salvage but life
as Corona has another roll of the death-dice.

Copyright © Charlotte Puddifoot | Year Posted 2020

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Date: 4/8/2020 6:59:00 AM

the poem does not necessarily reflect my personal views on coronavirus, but is just what came to me word-wise

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