A Number on a page,
A line upon a graph,
To represent a person,
Who used to breath who used to laugh
It’s not right to make someone
a number on a page,
Even though they’re dead,
It still fills me up with rage.
They don’t have their own number,
They’re all bundled up together,
And read out in a fashion
that could almost be the weather.
Every day there is a number –
They were all somebody’s family
and they used to be alive.
Not a proper send off,
Just a funeral of four.
If it wasn’t for the lockdown,
they would have had lots more.
Family and friends
want to say goodbye,
But now there is a Lockdown
You must sit at home and cry.
This shouldn’t be the way,
It should fill us up with shame.
This person’s not a number,
This person has a name.
Did you hear it going past,
Lights a blaring, sirens blast.
Superheroes work within,
To save somebody else’s kin.
Working through the day and night,
Speeding through the traffic light.
Going out to save the life,
Of someone’s daughter, someone’s wife.
Stay Home, Stay Safe.
To help the heroes in the van,
To do the best work that they can.
It’s the least you can do,
To help the heroes see it through.
For all the brilliant work they’ve done
To save someone’s brother, father, son.
To the Superheroes in the van,
Doing the best work that they can;
Superheroes wear a cape?
And they help you to escape –
From baddies big and strong?
That is where you’ve got it wrong.
No, they help you to escape
From your ever nearing fate,
They aren’t extremely big or tall,
Super heroes wearing scrubs, are the very best kind of all.