Forget Fresh-Coating The Ceiling Poem by Mark Heathcote

Our polish bus driver stands with others
rotund looks like a pirate swashbuckling
smoking at the terminus gossiping.
Pulling-up his pantaloons navy-trousers
ever so slyly drops his cig butt …spits;
on-board he tells us we all must mask-up.
Demands the correct money quite abrupt
he reissues tickets, end-date encrypt.
With un-gloved paws: destination-reached.
We queue to step inside a multi-store
with shopping lists its Christmas once more
hoping the shop, its-shelves they're replete.
With white silk emulsion, rollers, brushes.
A square planter for a Bay tree, but nag,
finding nothing at all. The emulsion is Matt
the brushes they're all like 1inch drumsticks.
The rollers all gone and planters have too.
Back on the bus, I'm social-distancing
now nothing's new, people are-grimacing
stuff your social-distancing, f*** you.
None are-distanced none, none is wearing masks,
a girl berates the fact to her smartphone
a man enters like he's on methadone
it's all like some Shakespearean play cast.
All this while I'm reading the Metro Talk
regarding face coverings, bus driver
Gary, - Manchester, I'm a bus driver
and we've been told he goes on to squawk
we can't enforce this new law or refuse
anyone to travel as it might then
lead to a conflict he goes on to vent;
all I-wanted-now was to go Barging Booze.
Look, forget fresh-coating the ceiling love,
I've had a bucket-full of COVID-19, "Enough."