Rationed by Ross Thompson, written in Bangor during 2020 Lockdown
And before we knew,
we were waiting in queues
for entry into stores of depleting
groceries: home baking aisles picked
entirely clean, shelves of tinned goods already
resource stripped by a plague of frenzied
locusts with an all-you-can-eat philosophy
and no intent to save the wheat or make do
and mend. Who could comprehend the urge
to fill the barn at the expense of those
in need; to pillage the whole village, to scoop
it all and deprive the pained of paracetamol?
But we all did it. We each succumbed
to the deep-seated fear of running the gauntlet
at the supermarket, two trolleys apart, circling one way
on the hunt for vitamin C and anti-bac spray,
all the while venting first world problems: the lack
of lasagne sheets and Panko breadcrumbs, panic
buying penne and basmati rice… what became of us?
How did we grow so out of touch? Glutting on foodstuffs,
all the while fretting, it will never be enough,
it will never be enough.