I scan the aisles
wearing the mask,
they sell us the stuff
enduring the task.
There was a point
when I rationed my eating,
others fight for water
fearing a beating.
My locked attic room
with food on the floor,
they fear for their jobs
landlords knock on the door.
I muse on headspace
but don't watch the news,
we die by thousands
all empty pews.
And as it goes on
they get weary but clearer,
that things are fast broken
and we are the bearer.
Things can be better
they should be,
people fighting surviving
dreaming what could be.
I say me to help
but do nothing to pay,
I'm quite fine here
some aren't lasting this day.
So what to do now
escape to the isle?
A long white cloud
a privilege to stockpile.