Ana Odete Preto, journalist and writer from Portugal, feels what we feel as this virus thing just doesn’t end. Watch here as she shares her poem from the second book of the international series "global insides."
Portugal is fed up with corona.
We didn't have Easter.
Not even popular saints,
nor summer festivals,
nor August parties in towns and villages,
nor toasting in the sun among many beach towels,
nor full tables and empty glasses.
We didn't have Freedom Day,
Not Labor Day,
Not even Portugal Day
And Republic Day has long been of little interest to us.
The king died and I don't feel well at all.
There is no restriction that can fix it.
We have masks and alcohol gel.
We run away from each other at the supermarket.
Glass cloaks employees again
pharmacies, post offices, stations . . .
No one can or wants to stay at home anymore.
It’s the last days of sunshine.
We’ll be without the sun,
and now they want to take Christmas away from us!
Nobody wants to be alone at Christmas!
Not this year, not this time . . .
stifled by news and statistics
of deaths and increases in everything but money,
they want to foist apps on us to follow our footsteps!
That’s why we still ended up voting for Donald.
—The duck? The goose?
—No, the donkey! The ass!