Hoarding

 

I’m sure, I am not the first, to call attention to the greed and selfishness of Americans.  That is, those, who live in these rather prosperous United States. (We in the US tend to forget that those in Canada, Mexico, Central and South America are also Americans!)

But this week, with the agonizing footage of bombs in Israel (which has a network of bomb shelters) and in the West Bank (which apparently does not) the contrast between our rather comfortable position, and the difficulties of other nations–including COVID-stricken India– proved a bit more than I could bear.  In silence, anyway.  

This poem is told in the voice of a prepper, a person who prepares for the End of TImes.  It recollects the hoarding mentality of the early pandemic, as well as the more recent national hoarding, or at least holding back, of vaccines.  We’ve been holding back, at least partially, due to the patent protection and lack of critical supplies, which make it economically unfeasible, for other nations to reproduce our vaccines at the scale they need.

All these instances amount to a refusal by Americans. to help their fellow man.  Instead, we focus on safeguarding our own health and welfare.  But not only do we want to be safe.  We want to be triple-safe.

A castle does not need three moats. One should suffice.

Biden’s announcements today, pledging to share our vaccine surplus with other countries, was very encouraging.  To do so effectively, world-wide, could conceivably spell the end of the pandemic on Planet Earth.  Let’s hope, it’s not too little, too late. 

This poem,  especially towards the end, reminds me of the Mockingbird lullaby–“Hush little baby, don’t say a word…” The music just about fits.  Let’s hope that in the future, things don’t continue to go wrong at every turn, as they do in that song.  That would not be very comforting, at all.

Thanks for coming by to read.

 

Buying three when I need one–

Fuller fridge when I am done–

Toilet paper, paper towels,

I’ll be ready, fair or foul.

 

In my basement, see the stacks

Of cans and boxes.  From attacks

I will be safe.  From hurricanes,

I have no fear.  They lay no claim.

 

Underground, I hoard my cash.

And though reduced, by fire, to ash,

I’ll resurrect.  A rarity.

I’ll never give to charity.

 

And should the bank and market fail,

I’ll still have plenty bread and ale.

And should the bomb upon me drop,

My shelter will the bedlam stop.

 

And if invaded by the Huns,

At least I’ve got my store of guns!

If there’s a vaccine, give me three–

Let the Virus

Put the world

Out of its

Misery.

 

Copyright 2021 Andrea LeDew

 

For a look at the virus through eyes other than our own, read The Market, Mexico City 

For a trip down memory lane to the COVID hoarding days of late March 2020, read Bubble Chart.