by Ruth S. Baker

I fear I have a covert case of COVID:
An incubus I find I can’t shake off.
My eyes, reflected in this screen, look mauvèd;
Each time I think about a cough, I cough.

My mind is just careening from Corona;
The markets of Wuhan seem very near,
And though I’m more sequestered than was Jonah,
I’ve somehow caught this awful thing—I fear.