Blitzkrieg by Ross Thompson, written in Bangor during lockdown 2020
When the enemy finally came, it invaded
insidiously:
a burglar stealthily checking front doors of the weak
and elderly
and those homes whose posts and lintels were not daubed
with disinfectant.
As a first defence, some friends joked pithily
about the scarcity
of hand wash and yeast, as if wry comedy
could defeat
the beast creeping unseen along streets, avenues
and cul-de-sacs,
seething like mustard gas, phosgene, tawny wormwood
or novichok
through each and every borough, barrio or block
before we could turn
back the clock or scorch the earth to halt the advancing
invisible horde.