Based on Ireland 1984
Linda Martin — Terminal 3

*Hightails it to the bathroom mirror*

Last night walked past that place – the Chinese takeaway that I got bird flu from.
Guess I should have known! Chicken chow mein to blame.
Now I feel much the same. Fear COVID-19’s been brought into my home!!

Only this morning in the papers I read: ‘Go anywhere near Asians and you’ll be dead!’
Twice now I’ve sneezed: it’s a sign!!

Closely inspect my face for some coronal trace.
My GP’s sure I’m wrong, though I’ve just explained. Like every time and case, says I exaggerate!
Can’t see me till next week, but that’s too late!!

By that time, well, to be sure I’ll be dead! “Here I am, calling you from my deathbed!!”
“Listen to me – you’ll be fine!”

Can’t he see that it’s worse than when I’d leprosy?
Scoffed at me, named some creams to dab on elbows and knees
“Just eczema, see?”
Take it easy? Not this time!

*Hightails it to the surgery*

“Can’t you see that it’s like when I had HIV?”
“Let me see – when we screened for that it turned out to be anxiety. Take it from me – you’re alright!”

No matter what I say, he just sends me away. Not even talking to me now on the phone!
I hope he feels ashamed and that he takes the blame when he hears that I’m gone!!

“Please go home.” (That’s what the eejit says each time I head his way)
“Please go home.” (So I email him, and feck it, I unload!)
“Please go home.” (“What’s not to understand, you odious little man!!”)
“Please go home.” (“I’ll be dead before long!!!”)


*Ticks off all the things she’s had wrong with her*

Ectopic pregnancy post-hysterectomy…
Hot flashes just the same, with phantom menstrual pain…

Blood thinners – I take three, work out compulsively; ten minutes on a plane = thrombosis in my veins…