The kind of day
The work’s so dull
The mind freefalls
In Brownian motion
Ideas clump
Slogans cluster
Thoughts fandango
Cascading through the mind
As you idly
Carve arabesques
On your femur
With the point of your scythe
Nothing is good
Nothing is bad
Colon cancer’s
Just yesterday’s beetroot
The tracheal
Haemorrhage is
Puked up red wine
And coughs are simply coughs
Then the klaxons
Scream! Screens light up!
Back in action!
The slogans spring to mind!
Adland copy!
Hookline sinkers!
“It ain’t Covid
Til the thin laddie swings!”