Transmitters Poem by Mark Heathcote

Just yesterday it was reported there were
Lots of BBQ party's hurrah, hurrah, hurrah!
One of which had twenty-something guests
Local police force sadly attests.
Then there are parking wardens walking 2-by-2
In the city streets earning revenue
I can only guess they must also be
Seen as essential workers too, like me.
And, buses running ahead of schedule,
Park passengers in a germ-filled cesspool
Further prolonging stays together and
Chance of infection what's not to understand?

An intensive care nurse Lorraine Jones, from
Manchester is asked to share, quite benumb-
Her protective face-mask and used filters.
"Are our NHS staffs being used as transmitters? "
She-berates and attacks the government
For not doing more, it's just abhorrent.
While told an Italian nurse infected
Committed suicide has self-ejected.
Fearing she's contaminated others
Her life and work, it's now hit the buffers.
Here brightly coloured joggers are running
Around street corners, coughing and panting.

And some are even out playing football
It's all incredulous what a furore.
The police in Piccadilly gardens,
Toe to toe, forgetting—social-margins.
Social distancing with junkies slouching
Closely standing with those that are flouting
The law, I listen to one by the fountains,
She demands, begs as she still carousels
Near to the floor, another drag on
Her shared marijuana joint, thereon
The meat wagons arrive and quickly fill:
8 pm all applaud from their window sill.