by David K Asamoah

When my love swears that she did not just cough
I do believe her though I know she lies
That she might stay home a quarantined sloth
And spare me of the virus that resides.
Though vain, I do not care if I was wrong 
To stockpile all the tissues, soaps and rest
Simply in case I’m forced off work for long
I’ll live off five thousand frozen chicken breasts
But wherefore someone with unwashed hands must
Touch my own hands and I then catch a cold?
O Covid pass me by I do not trust
My calm to last as breaking news is told
And so I lie beneath the covers free
Of any symptoms of rationality.

The Poor Print

Established in 2013, The Poor Print is the student-run newspaper of Oriel College, Oxford. Written by members of the JCR, MCR, SCR and staff, new issues are published fortnightly during term. Our current Executive Editors are Siddiq Islam and Jerric Chong.

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