With a cloud of rancorous belief and grey relief poised.
a bloody passover posed; allegedly retired from its millennium jaunty.
With a silent noise at a daggerpoint, oblivious minds steamed up
toxic presentation of buffet on the virus table circled with chairs,
the fluid meal made whole with rotten cells of toxins inside a globe
Preserved by a bat, or the pangolin or the faceless scum in a lab of pathogens
or the God’s handmade.
Who cares? Conspiracies regurgitated.
Death is the aroma, a cinch to the guests seated in isolation.
The global food, the great feast; pragmatically served to all and sundry
Wuhan embraces the microscopic meal with a grimace; dust raised, alarm silenced.
The guests; gluttonous globetrotters with civilized legs reached for a portion;
Gourmands grabbed their shares, homeward! It’s finished, empty plate on the centre.
Sanguinary days; shrapnel of sickness shattering lives like an incendiary cut across guests.
Vortex of pandemonium lay siege. Cacophony echoed; lock-downs and shutdowns.
Economy tumbles. Social distancing from normal routine; each human to their tenths.
Never knew the delicious food is a global sin; an accursed edible from the unknown good cook
Poisoned to end a good chunk of humans who patronized it; steals the air, apocalypse.
Humans’ tragedy turning our feast into a pandemic; respiratory sickness and death.
Is this the ultimate banquet? Or we’ve bartenders ready to serve us more?
A good guess like mine topples the days to and fro. Memories from the past;
dead ages forgotten. Purgation wet my panties, eat the crap. Violently pessimistic.
But if not our Last Supper, progenitors and posterity won’t believe
we witnessed a food war that smashes wealth, leaving health to thrive.
Like past, present and future if tomorrow is spared.
A nature’s feast or an anthropogenic cook or a supernatural spice?
Let’s leave the answer to the wise.