by Barbara Crooker

We’ve stayed inside for sixty days
We’ve changed our habits many ways
We can’t give Mother’s Day bouquets
And now come murder hornets

We’ve washed our hands till they are sore
We’ve scrubbed the counters, mopped the floor
We’ve wiped the knob on every door
And now it’s murder hornets

We hide our mouths behind a mask
We double-think each mundane task
What else can we do now, you ask?
Look out for murder hornets

We live this life in quarantine
Away from friends who can’t be seen
We spend our days glued to a screen
And fear the murder hornets

One day restrictions will be over
But will we wander in the clover
And play a game of catch with Rover?
Hell no. Thanks, murder hornets!

by Nora Jay

“Boy, 5, told officers he was driving to California to buy Lamborghini sports car—with $3 in his pocket”
—The Guardian

When I was young, I must admit, I could be kind of bratty:
I kept expecting Santa Claus to buy me a Bugatti;
But now I’m five, I don’t believe in fairies or a genie,
And so I know it’s up to me to find my Lamborghini.

They make them near Los Angeles, so off I headed early.
I took my parents’ SUV (which is a bit toe-curly):
The steering wheel is kind of tall (it isn’t that I’m teeny),
But achy arms don’t matter when you need a Lamborghini.

I hit the gas, not caring if my legs were getting sorer,
Till suddenly I saw a flashing, boring Ford Explorer.
There was a cop inside of it, and, boy, he was a meanie;
And thanks to him I’ve still not got my three-buck Lamborghini.

by Jerome Betts

8th May in ’45? So long ago,
That one spring day distinguished by a V?
8th May in 2020? Different foe
And one more month disfigured by a C.

by Anna M. Evans

For Juno

We had to all go virtual, just like that!
And most of it is going pretty well,
except Zoom meetings hijacked by my cat.

The teaching’s looking good, from where I’m sat.
It’s lucky that I had my Blackboard shell
when we had to all go virtual, just like that.

The student who was bratty’s still a brat.
Not much is new. As far as I can tell
they all like “online classroom” with my cat.

I can forgive myself for getting fat—
I’ve drunk an awful lot of Zinfandel
since we had to all go virtual just like that.

The problem is, when I sit down to chat
online with more important clientele,
Zoom meetings will get hijacked by my cat.

And if I peel her off me, yelling, Scat,
she just comes back again and raises hell.
I’ve mastered going virtual, just like that,
except Zoom meetings hijacked by my cat.

by Julia Griffin

Tom Hanks asked me into his kitchen,
Now Ellen and Portia have too;
Madonna’s rose bathtub’s bewitchin’,
I’m thrilled with Reese Witherspoon’s view.

The stars of the Met have been gracious:
I like hanging out with Renée;
The Kimmel kid’s playroom looks spacious.
(I’m hoping they’ll ask me to stay.)

The Dixie Chicks host me in Dallas;
At Oprah’s I’ve got a routine;
But Christmas I’ll keep for the Palace—
My post-dinner drink with the Queen.

by Ruth S. Baker

“The Kentucky Derby isn’t happening on Saturday, but a turtle race is”
—CNN

“NBC will be hosting a virtual Kentucky Derby featuring Triple Crown winners”
—CNN

The punters at their screens are feelin’ lucky.
Some things don’t stop; a Derby will be run;
In fact, we’ve got two options from Kentucky,
And CGI can give us both in one!

The rookies doubtless favour Secretariat;
But anyone who wants to keep his shirt’ll
Consider this a contest to be wary at:
A virtual horse against an actual turtle.

by Claudia Gary

To the GOP lawmaker who opposed coronavirus face masks
because they cover “the image of God”

What holy Protector
anointed with nectar
your head’s frontal sector?

If you’re his reflector,
I don’t mean to hector,
but is God a vector?

by Alex Steelsmith

If a body meets a body
Comin’ through the rye,
If a body greets a body,
Will a body die?

Chorus:
Every lassie has a laddie;
None, they say, have I.
All the lads avoid my body
Comin’ through the rye.

If a body sees a body
Comin’ down the street,
Should a body let a body
Come within six feet?

If a body meets a body
Comin’ from the well,
Can a body touch a body,
Even with Purell?

If a body meets a body
Comin’ from the town,
Will a body’s antibodies
Let a body down?

by Dan Campion

“I’m not saying anything is perfect . . .”
—The President of the United States

By braying, “open soon,” alas,
He’s saying who’s a perfect ass.

by Orel Protopopescu
(With apologies to Paul Simon)

The problem’s all inside blue states, the prez declares,
so why’s it my fault they were all caught unawares?
Why should I stop supplying them with fresh nightmares
when there are fifty ways to screw them over?
He says, it’s really not my habit to intrude
except to help my friends, at least the ones who lift my mood.
Why send our PPE to states where I get booed
when there are fifty ways to screw them over?
Fifty ways to screw them over…

Stop the jokes about Kiev, Kev.
Blame and deceive, Steve.
Pin them down, limb by limb, Jim.
They lose what we gain.
Keep them in park, Mark.
Call them out for their dark snark.
Eyes on our campaign, Blaine.
Their loss is our gain.

Prez says, why should I help the governors succeed
in states I hate? It feels so great to keep the stuff I know they need.
Your loyalty to me is guaranteed now we’ve agreed
about those fifty ways…
He says, what better use for power anyway?
We may be gone tomorrow. Better to cash in today!
And with a sniffing snort he added, As I say,
There must be fifty ways to screw them over…

(Repeat Chorus)

by Donald Mace Williams

I see more people every day
With little feed bags on.
How long, if such a fad holds sway,
Till all the oats are gone?

by Barbara Loots

The cat has a flapdoor for in-and-out going.
The gutters un-gummed keep the rainwater flowing.
The hinge that was squeaky?
The pipe that was leaky?
All fixed.
And that ratty old table? Antique-y!
The junk is hauled out
and the basement is clean.
A shim solves the shimmying
washing machine.
The driveway is sealed
from the house to the street.
The weeds in the grass
have gone down to defeat.
The porch swing is painted.
The sidewalk cemented.
The frenzied refurbishing?
Almost demented.
Have you been distraught, dear,
with nothing to do?
This buzzing and sawing
just isn’t like you!
Devotion by demo?
I don’t need the proof!
For godsake, my darling,
come down from the roof!

Steven Stampone

The school desks are empty, say teachers.
The pews will stay bare, say (most) preachers.
The stadium’s stands
Are lacking in fans,
But the ER is filling with bleachers.

by Julia Griffin

“Man busted in Spain for taking goldfish for a walk during lockdown”
—The New York Post

When énervé Nerval took out his lobster,
And Dali daily walked his ocelot,
Was either one arrested like a mobster
Or busted for it? Obviously not.

The moose of Tycho Brahe got to travel
Without arousing panic-stricken squeals,
And surely (watching out for scratchy gravel),
Licinius Muraena aired his eels.

My, how the world has altered! My idea
Was just to let my goldfish stretch his fins,
When suddenly here come the policía,
In plastic suits and masks from cheeks to chins.

A hefty fine and lengthy lecture later,
I’m locked back down, with fish and Google. Wait—
John Quincy Adams had an alligator:
A choice I’m starting to appreciate.

by Nina Parmenter

Here is the bat that coughed and sneezed,
here is a droplet on a breeze,
and here is the pangolin who breathed
and caught a bit of bother.

Here is a market in Wuhan,
and here is the germ that caught a man
who kissed his wife—and so began
a little bit of bother.

Here is a party man who guessed
that bad diseases breed bad press,
and here is the day he chose not to confess
to a little bit of bother.

Here is a leader across the sea,
here is his booming economy
and here are the dying he chose not to see
until they were a bother.

Here are the coffins and here are the casks,
here are the care workers begging for masks,
and here are the scientists facing the task
of sorting out the bother.