The ‘Rona.

the'Rona

“The ‘Rona” by Ron Campbell. (Ink, colored pencil and welder’s pencil on paper bag.)

 

The ‘Rona.

There was a ‘Rona that came this year
When oh when will it disappear?
It does it’s thing, like most diseases
And moves about just as it pleases.

From ocean liner to nursing home
There’s hardly a place it does not roam.
And this ‘Rona employs the tactic
Of hiding in people, asymptomatic.

To the old, the young, the in-between
It’s one of the worst that’s ever been.
Not only that, it should be noted
It doesn’t care how you voted.

It doesn’t care if you’re poor or rich
This ‘Rona is a real son-of-a-bitch.
See this ‘Rona cares not the color of your skin
It doesn’t even care what country you’re in.

And as far as which is your religion
The ‘Rona doesn’t care, not even a smidgen.
So I’m here to tell the ‘Rona exactly what is what:
You may have our livers but we’ve still got our guts.

We’ve got doctors and nurses and scientists who
Are giving their lives to put an end to you.
And we’ve got Compassion, something you simply don’t possess.
And as far as empathy goes, you couldn’t have less.

So overcrowd our hospitals and clog our lungs.
Knock down our economy a couple of rungs.
You may make us stand six feet apart
But you will never take our heart.

 

 

Emeryville, Spring, 2020.

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