by Bruce Bennett

My mask fogs up my glasses.
I know that’s not so bad.
It’s just an inconvenience.
It’s not as if I had

A whole lot to complain of.
I mean, with all these fears
I know I should be grateful.
It also bends my ears.

by Julia Griffin

“‘Ghosts’ try to spook people off streets during coronavirus in Indonesia”
—CNN 

Enveloped in their winding sheets
With bunching folds up top,
They stalk the Indonesian streets
(Well, actually, they hop):

A sight to scare the least devout,
A terrible tableau,
A ruinous reminder out
Of Edgar Allan Poe.

O you whom Covid has not stopped,
Who never even blench:
Behold these apparitions propped
Upon a public bench;

Beware, proud fools who strut and brag:
Run home now and behave,
Or something in a long white bag
Will glare you to your grave!

by Susan Jarvis Bryant

“Florida Judge Begs Lawyers: Get Dressed For Zoom Hearings”
—HuffPost

When attending a conference at home in your room
on the boon of that technical app they call Zoom,
to emerge in your undies and pitch from your bed
is a frightful faux pas that is simply ill-bred.
Never greet at a meeting in anything less
than a brushed and flossed smile and sartorial finesse.

Do not slouch on the couch, it’s unseemly and rude,
and don’t ever appear drinking beer in the nude.
Please relinquish all fancies to fidget or fart;
remain pert and alert and as sharp as a dart.
Any brash, cyber crassness is at your expense
if you make others wince with an online offense.

When you’re minding your manners and covering your ass,
you will slay the Zoom forum with polish and class!

by Brian Allgar

No bailout for USPS—
How Donald Trump is gloating!
He smells electoral success
By killing postal voting.

by Dan Campion

“They actually fought us.”
—Donald J. Trump

Who can I name to take the blame
For what I didn’t do?
Who can I jab and twit and shame,
Then throttle strongly? Who?

Who’ll be my punching bag on Fox,
Besides old Sleepy Joe?
I know! I’ll rabbit punch those docs,
The W – H – O.

I’ll work them on the ropes awhile,
Then open up a cut
That bleeds profusely, Rocky–style
And worries their eyes shut.

I’ll claim I’m fighting mutiny,
While pummeling my foe,
Those healers who won’t kneel to me,
The W – H – O.

They’ll cinch the champion’s belt around
My middle—crown me King!—
Because I had the guts to pound
WHO’s doctors in the ring.

by Orel Protopopescu

In the midst of this pandemic,
lo, behold a silver lining!
Dauntless voters of Wisconsin,
keep resisting, haloes shining!

To the hospital employee
ranting at the Trump supporters
blocking access to his work site:
Love to you, your sons and daughters!

Trump told states to buy equipment,
then he stockpiled it for FEMA.
Now he forks it out to those who
share his mental lymphedema.

He takes sanctioned “gifts” from Russia,
fires our best and rants non-stop.
How can heroes fight contagion
with sick outbreaks from the top?

All you MAGA wearing plotters,
all you pistol-packing mobsters,
while you’re scrounging for a living,
can you guess who dines on lobsters?

by Bruce Bennett

“Tell the Democrat Governors that ‘Mutiny
On The Bounty’ was one of my all time
favorite movies.”
—Donald J. Trump

“Your Governors are mutineers!”
cries Trump, our Captain Bligh.
“But I am here to quell your fears.
None runs a ship like I.”

And so he struts and crows and preens
through winds that roar and rend.
We do not doubt he saw those scenes,
but doubt he saw the end.

by Philip Kitcher

In sooth, I know not why I am so sick,
It wearies me; you say it wearies you;
But how I caught it, found it, or came by it,
In truth I know not. I have kept the span
(Required by protocol and common sense)
From other mortals. Yet all day I lie
Upon my fever’d couch. My racking cough
Plunders the bounty of the tissue box.

by Erika Fine

The weeks go by, the fourth, the fifth,
And normalcy’s become a myth.
I want to hug, I want to hold,
I want this deadly scourge controlled.
I want to walk amidst a crowd.
I want to lift this morbid shroud.
I sit, sequestered in my home,
And yearn to mingle, travel, roam.
My energy is out of whack—
I want my normal problems back.

by Julia Griffin

“A British woman in a long-term relationship with a 92-year-old German chandelier has been told that her attraction to historic light fittings is not considered to be a protected sexual orientation.”
—The Guardian

They say he’s ninety-two and German. Yes:
That’s all a part of his wild sexiness.
I shudder with unique erotic feeling
To watch him sway suspended from the ceiling
With bulbous implants and appended flex:
The radiant embodiment of sex.
And is my light a fixture now of fun
To tabloid trash that claims to be the Sun?
And does the unenlightened law reject
Us photosexuals it should protect?
Undimmed, my love shines forth, for every sneer
A billion watts yet lovelier, O my chandelier!

by J.P. Celia

They pluck a novel from a shelf,
Peruse its contents, put it back.
They contemplate the inner self,
Grow bored by what they find, and snack.

They move from bed to couch to chair.
They hear the mousy seconds crawl
Beneath the floorboards while they stare
At crooked artwork on the wall.

They watch a movie, play a song.
They brew a pot, redecorate.
They ask themselves if it is wrong
To mix a drink or masturbate

While people die; they’re far from sure.
They toss on antiseptic sheets.
They’re told there isn’t yet a cure.
They dream of restaurants, crowded streets.

by Ruth S. Baker

“Coronavirus: Pandas mate in lockdown at Hong Kong zoo after ten years trying”
—BBC News

Though misery these days is quite systemic
And in expression nothing less than clamorous,
There’s one thing we must say for this pandemic:
Its side-effects are dandily pandamorous.
It seems the old philosophers were right:
Few things are ever simply black and white.

by Barbara Loots

“Kansas Republican leaders on Wednesday revoked Democratic Gov. Laura Kelly’s order limiting religious gatherings to 10 people, paving the way for churches to meet on Easter Sunday…”
—The Kansas City Star

Freedom’s important
so go where you please
to worship together
and scoff at disease…
It’s only a governor
you’ll be defying.
God will protect you
from sickness and dying.

by Chris O’Carroll

Now number three is out the door,
Let’s welcome mouthpiece number four.
She was a birtherism flack
In 2016. Now she’s back.
Whatever view he spouts is hers;
She parrots just as he prefers.
When he claims he’s on top of things,
That anthem is what Kayleigh sings.
She says that he has never lied.
She’s obviously qualified.

by Julia Griffin

“The Queen has said the UK ‘will succeed’ in its fight against the coronavirus pandemic, in a rallying message to the nation.”
—BBC News

(to the tune of “We’ll Meet Again,” which the Queen referenced in her speech)

We’ll meet again,
Swore the Queen, See you then.
And somehow, although four thousand miles away,
I felt less blue
(It’s something she can do),
Though the dark clouds seemed no less resolved to stay.

We’ll meet again,
Said the grand Châtelaine:
And at once we know it’s going to be OK.

We’ll meet again,
Swore the Queen, And Amen.
And although it may once more take place by screen,
I preened anew,
Just looking forward to
My confirmed post-viral meeting with the Queen.