Cassandra was cursed to utter prophecies that were true but no one believed. This seasider just hits the keys occasionally.
One point five
Cough Cough, cough, Is it your throat? Or Have you caught a viral load? Rasped by a thousand vibrating files The vile Bastards of the sloyd shop Whose job it is to smooth dry surfaces Saw back and forth in unison Attacking your ruby larynx Until soothed by a nameless elixir You gag and rest upon The Test To await the day The text arrives to say You have what - Is but a common cold Cough, cough,
In relief you wash your Well washed hands. And praise the advice - Keep one point five metres Apart and stay safe.