They told us to stay inside

From the virus we must hide.

But where’d it come from? Why’s it here?

Is it agrotech like some fear?

Or could it be a bio-tool 

Designed to cull the most uncool?

Don’t come near me, I might scream,

Worse than any Hitchockian screen.

Could it be the Truman show, where we’re being set up 

And someone gloats?

You see, the mind goes round and round

For an answer must be found.

This is the age of man eat man,

Profits flowing to some male hands.

Am i anxious, doctor? Well, a bit,

My system’s already taken a hit.

If the virus were my crown

I’d be so afraid it’d take me down.

 And so, the anxious age arrives

Medieval fears and four wheel drives

Some may call it Anthropocene

But it feels like a Xanaxocene.

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