Computerless and televisionless,
days and years gone by amiss,
presidents and popes gone by unheard,
never a sighting or a word,
wars and styles forever in the news,
so what for a man and his booze?
Corona’s got him inside his house,
sitting alone and quiet as a mouse,
counting the tiles on the floor,
days into weeks into years times four.
Outside is an alien world overrun
by Corona Beasts and forgotten sun,
a place where the Grim Reaper roams,
trampling over roses and smashing bones.
Locked up inside and away from it all
is the man with the cloudy crystal ball.
When will it all end?
When can he go outside?
Will he live or will he die?