The pain in my hands.
Those I use to write,
these words, that pour
from addled brain mine.
I try to write words clearly
but fine them now hard to read.

Go away from here,
go away now.
Who do you think your are?
Will we have to bow?
You "pocket sized" ruler,
with your red tie too long.
Try being truthful
just once in your life.

What can I do?
What can I say,
When you leave me
Here in my dismay.

The good old days are now gone.
The lives lost in this virus run,
Be they daughter, husband, wife or son.
A much too early return to work
Or the open a business, to crowds,
Was poor judgement, if it was used.
It now appears the citizens were confused,
As our leader, said it will be gone
In mid April, when it is warm.
Wrong again, with your guessing game,
As you violate any sense of reason.
Not wearing a mask. It is your claim
The petulant child you; are to blame.
May Karma grab you by your shirt
And plant your face into the dirt.