Omicron:
	Be gone!
	
	Will the virus
	Expire us?
	
	Not wearing a mask?
	You’ll be taken to task
	
	Huddled in my family bubble
	I can’t get myself in trouble
	
	“Give me liberty or give me death”
	- the anti-vaxxer’s final breath
	
	Two long years of hibernation
	Can I bear more isolation?
	
	At Dr. Kjeran Moore’s insistence
	I’ll maintain a six foot distance
	
	Teresa Tam has often said it
	To sing out loud can quickly spread it
	
	No more firmly shaken hand
	The elbow bump's the new command
	
	Stick a Q-tip up my nose
	I’ll come out smelling like a rose
	
	If you want to stay alive
	Use a mask - N-95
	
	I think I’m going to have a fit
	Can’t get a rapid testing kit
	
	To advocate for drinking bleach
	Should be sufficient to impeach
	Two jabs and now a booster shot
	I suspect a deep state plot
	As I pass through the airport gate
	They tell me I must isolate
	
	When Covid happened on our planet
	We should have passed a law to ban it
	
	Without a proof of vaccination
	I’m banned from Tim’s - no hesitation
	
	Ventilators, ICUs
	Neither is the one I’d choose
	
	Covid 19, Covid 19
	Meanest virus I’ve ever seen
	Hope they find a good vaccine
	Or I’ll end up in quarantine
	Where I’ll relax and eat poutine
	Read Reader’s Digest magazine
	Making for an awful scene
Some readers seem intent on nullifying the authority of David Simmonds. The critics are so intense; Simmonds is cast as more scoundrel than scamp. He is, in fact, a Canadian writer of much wit and wisdom. Simmonds writes strong prose, not infrequently laced with savage humour. He dissects, in a cheeky way, what some think sacrosanct. His wit refuses to allow the absurdities of life to move along, nicely, without comment. What Simmonds writes frightens some readers. He doesn't court the ineffectual. Those he scares off are the same ones that will not understand his writing. Satire is not for sissies. The wit of David Simmonds skewers societal vanities, the self-important and their follies as well as the madness of tyrants. He never targets the outcasts or the marginalised; when he goes for a jugular, its blood is blue. David Simmonds, by nurture, is a lawyer. By nature, he is a perceptive writer, with a gimlet eye, a superb folk singer, lyricist and composer. He believes quirkiness is universal; this is his focus and the base of his creativity. "If my humour hurts," says Simmonds,"it's after the stiletto comes out." He's an urban satirist on par with Pete Hamill and Mike Barnacle; the late Jimmy Breslin and Mike Rokyo and, increasingly, Dorothy Parker. He writes from and often about the village of Wellington, Ontario. Simmonds also writes for the Wellington "Times," in Wellington, Ontario.
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