Pandemic Poetry: The Devil Rides on Bacilli by Faith Flaherty

Pernicious evil growing
from dark pathogens
unearthed in a Wuhan lab
or the open market.

Eaten by an ant.
Swallowed by a bat.
Lapped by a pangolin.
Relished by a man.

No reason to make ado.
Some always look to blame.
Others always find conspiracy.
Then there's just bad Karma.

The fact that it survives
washing hands,
wearing gloves,
donning face masks,

is a testimony to the stubbornness
of an enemy beyond our eyes,
waiting to pounce and ride
round the world with abandonment.

What weapon will kill it?
Soap and vaccine will slow
but never have victory over
a bloodless, fleshless germ.

Wait till summer, some say.
The heat will kill the virus.
Then throw this bane back
to hell where it was conceived.