by Ryan Stone
Stuck in iso, ducking for cover
from this case of Rona doing
the rounds. Worse than the time
in ’89 when Mad Dog Murphy
won the footy grand final
and half the cheer squad came
down with the clap. Stewing
over dwindling bog roll supplies,
pondering what business a bat
had in a fish market from the start.
I wanna knock back a cold one, but beer
sold out one day before crap paper. So
I chucked a sickie, coz I was feeling
rooted, and sick of going apeshit
when me bludger mates ducked out for smoko,
only to find that the doc enforces
a deuce as soon as you cough.
At least I’m one of the lucky lads—
me missus is bonza,
and keeps the ankle-biters
in line. I’m sure this will pass,
as all things pass. Before long
she’ll be apples, mate.
Ryan Stone is an Aussie who has been practicing social distancing for decades.