A space upon the shelf.
We stare and sigh, and rummage pointlessly in the vicinity.
But we know, we knew before we came,
there would be none to find.
We knew when we heard the news,
our helpful media made sure of that with their wilful mischief.
Don’t tell me they didn’t know that all it would take
were four small words:
‘No need to panic’.
A stampede of the desperate.
A frenzied footfall filling up their trolleys.
Their greedy stash packed smugly in cupboards and lofts and garages,
leaving nary a single one for the rest of us.
And one wonders, if news of a shortage produces such hysteria,
how will we cope when the shit really hits the fan?
This is the last prompt (No 13) for Muri’s Poetry Scavenger Hunt. A Rant Poem. There are so many subjects to choose from, but panic buying is with us again. I don’t know who’s worse – the media for fanning the flames in the first place, or us for over-reacting and panic buying. Just how many toilet rolls can one family use? How much pasta can they eat? How much sunflower oil do they really need? I despair at how selfish we in the West have become – thinking of ourselves first, ignoring how our actions deny others. So, rant over. I guess I’m just going to have to fry everything in butter instead!