There’s social distancing and then there’s anti-social dipsticks. Another sad but true story.

Easter Eggs.

I went for a contemplative stroll this Easter weekend,
Round our slow lazy river I thought I’d quietly wend,
Then three dumb asses came roaring round the bend.

Three Bandidos blasted past, patched and proud,
Three buddies passing a pipe- that’s not allowed.

It was Mesrrs Harley and Davidson plus their Indian friend,
It’s an unmuffled and strident message those bad boys send,
Just what part of ‘quiet Easter weekend’ can’t they comprehend?

A party of three, in days when three’s a crowd?
Three Bandidos two many, and too fucking loud.


(Egg is a Kiwi term for a dipstick/dipshit/dickhead/dropkick, etc.)



Stay at home, obey the law, keep your distance? Someone’s doing me out of my self-important job!

Nosy Old Busybody.

They all say I’m crabby cantankerous and crotchety
But the elected head of my Neighborhood Watch is me,
I stick my nose out into our suspiciously silent leafy lane-
Usually it’s so loud and lively here I can’t hear myself complain.

Time to patrol my neighborhood,
Sniff out some villains up to no good.

Jim’s not sittin’ on his porch, flipping a finger as I pass,
Mrs Smith’s Shih Tzu isn’t out yapping all over the grass,
I see no congested traffic choking up our busy little road,
Only the twitch of a curtain as I pass each shuttered abode.

No-one’s out to share the love,
Fear and distrust go hand in glove.

I don’t hear the local kindergartens constant babble,
Surely I don’t miss wading through that rowdy rabble?
All those abject lessons in ‘doesn’t play well with others?’
All those SUV Minivan driving double-parking mothers?’

Children are neither heard nor seen,
The block’s quieter than it’s ever been.

There’s no cars idling outside the corner store,
Even Sanjay’s shut up shop and slammed his door,
I see no hoodie-clad ‘tweeners exchanging tinny treats,
Nope, no neighborhood gangs doing deals on my streets!

I can go home knowing they’re all stuck inside-
It just takes a pandemic to make my job a joyride.

When he runs the greatest economy in the world, the President tells us when and where the buck stops.

Pay Dirt.

This all started just like a touch of common flu-
Nothing a president couldn’t power through,
But then people sickened, they started to cough,
Took to their sick beds, and, worse, sick days off.

Soon the busy president made it crystal clear-
News of a pandemic he did not wish to hear,
No way would he let his ‘Merica  shut up shop,
A stalled economy- why, life might as well stop!

Now for this profit president, suddenly so much is at stake,
Wow, now see him go, (though he was slow on the uptake,)
Don now tells everyone, stay a healthy six feet apart-
Pity he’s given the virus a GreaT big flying head start.

But he’s never been a man renowned for his patience,
Now the prez wants to fast-track this testing of patients,
Donald demands an overnight cure for this dark disease-
Suddenly there’s a light at the end of the tunnel only he sees.

His brilliant plan B is to wish and pray this illness away,
He’s aiming to have the churches packed in on Easter day,
Some brave Bishop please tell him that would be a blunder,
Ironically, stories of resurrection might put one six feet under.