The Travesty of The Ping

Locked in for eight days;

just two more to go,

before setting foot on the –

Not yet.

Not even one foot in and the other one out,

and yet,

today, I hear, not from the app, but from a voice transmitted upon radio waves:

“It is not illegal, people must remember, to go out to work, after a ping,


you must not, cannot, work if a member of Track and Trace gives you a ring.”

Just lost £300, the last days of a contract job (no sick pay included),

for a ping –

that was not, as it turns out, the same thing as being given a ring.

And if I had been given a ring –

not at all my thing –

I could at least have

pawned it.

Copyright of poem owned by Jay Cool and her empty bank account, 16th July 2021

Image courtesy of

Published by The Silly-Savvy Salopian

Freelance writer and descendant of the cave dweller and outlaw, Humphrey Kynaston. Banished from Shropshire for my eccentricity, I have made my home in Suffolk. I write poetry, short stories, travel journals, comedy gig reviews and non-fiction articles. My wish is to write my way back into the heart of my birth land. All writing commissions (and free holidays in Shropshire!) considered.

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