My privilege stockpile

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.

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