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.

by Eddie Aderne

“Adopt a Bison!”
—Email from the National Wildlife Federation

These weeks I’ve found a lot to take advice on—
French cooking, dressing up as works of art—
But my decision’s to adopt a bison,
And so I’ve put one in my online cart.

At first perhaps I’ll be obliged to crate him
Until domestic rules are understood,
But very soon I plan to educate him
As any conscientious parent should.

With all these new accomplishments I’m learning
His eager mind will be profusely fed.
His tastes will be wide-ranging but discerning,
As suits a youthful, modern quadruped;

He’ll rate the art of Tin Tin and of Titian,
The words of Süsskind and of Dr. Seuss;
In politics he’ll take a poised position,
Not like some loud, opinionated moose.

The plan’s complete: I’m ready to adopt him—
Once this piano’s fixed for hooves, it’s done!
I know I’ll be delighted to have copped him.
Let me present: my highbrow bison son.

by Jerome Betts

“The Chinese government has signalled an end
to the human consumption of dogs . . . between
10 and 20 million dogs are killed in China for
their meat annually, while Animals Asia puts
the figure for cats at around 4 million per year.”
—The Guardian

Good news for the Peke and the chow
If not bullock, lamb, chicken, boar, sow.
Serving roast sides of Rover
May well soon be over . . .
But what about beasts that meow?

by Chris O’Carroll

You’ve counted on us for inebriation,
Now raise a toast to our participation
In efforts at pandemic mitigation.
(Just don’t mistake this stuff for a libation.)

by Nora Jay

“Death, destruction, ruin and decay!”
—Every media outlet everywhere, every day

Our correspondent Walter Wall
Does not desire to cast a pall,
But needs incessantly to speak.
The thing has not yet reached its peak;
It’s getting worse from day to day,
And will beyond the end of May.
No symptoms? Don’t go seeking credit;
It’s attitudes like this that spread it,
So lock your doors, and risk perforce
Depression, bankruptcy, divorce,
Addiction and infanticide.
The world’s at one; you cannot hide.
Stand with the facts, or sit and cower
Beneath this never-ending shower
From experts, buffs, and cognoscenti.
Up Next, Exclusive: COVID-20.

by Julia Griffin

Not for the grand politicos, with room to keep their distance,
Who haggle over ways to come to billionnaires’ assistance,
But for the half-paid cooks who fill their daily online orders,
And all the late-night cleaners with relations at the borders.

Not for the big employers, Mr. Gates and Mr. Bezos,
With half the world’s economy dependent on their say-sos,
But for the purchase-processors who find the goods and sort them,
The truckers and the mailers who must lift them and transport them.

Not for the big insurers with their minds on graphs and vectors,
But for the nursing orderlies and sickroom disinfectors.
Not for myself, new on-line Prof (compelled by others’ prudence),
But for the food-store checkout staff (who now include my students).

by Mark F. Stone

The State took a stand that we practice techniques
to maintain our distance and clean till it squeaks.
But can such a stance
bring a halt to romance?
Perchance we’ll know more in about forty weeks.

by Jenna Le

My favorite kind of mask is clear:
the sort with loops around each ear.
It stays in place without relying
on knots at risk of self-untying
and has no pesky sideways cord
to gouge a groove into one’s gourd,
to bunch one’s hair into a hill,
or slither north and south at will.
My sis prefers another type:
when strings weigh on her ears, she’ll gripe.
She’s partial to a mint-green hue,
while I like my face masks sky-blue.
As for my mom, she scratched her head
to see masks candy-striped in red,
believing cool-toned masks would be
endowed with more solemnity.
A guy I met once at the gym
opines the thing that bothers him
is masks’ faint antiseptic scent.
“That’s how good health smells,” I dissent.
To think some people didn’t know
their tastes in masks just weeks ago!

by Dan Campion

“Illinois governor: Federal government sent wrong type of masks”
—The Hill

Our staunch Lone Ranger just received
Ten crates of Batman masks;
No masks for her, Catwoman’s grieved.
Where’s mine? the Phantom asks.

Hamburglar’s wrapped in Mummy gauze,
The Hulk wears gray Carrara,
While Wonder Woman’s sporting claws
And Wolfman her tiara.

Clark Kent’s decked out as Supergirl.
Check out Spock’s ears on Kirk!
It’s costume business Tilt-A-Whirl:
Your Government at work.

by David Hedges

The Don denounces vote-by-mail,
Believing it’s a vicious plot
To guarantee that Ds prevail.
The gerrymander won’t mean squat—

And what about suppression laws
That Rs worked years to put in place?
Dear Leader fears he’ll hear guffaws
If voters toss him on his face.

by Susan Jarvis Bryant

“Don’t Nag Your Husband During Lockdown,
Malaysia’s Government Advises Women”
—NPR

(to the tune of “My Favorite Things”
from The Sound of Music)

Face days with grace
and embrace patriarchy.
Keep chatter perky and never get snarky.
Buff up your halo and fluff up your wings.
Don’t get a knot in your old apron strings.

Pucker and pout
in a slick of pink lipstick.
Cheer him with charm when he acts like a dipstick.
Wear something foxy in fabric that clings.
Don’t get a knot in your old apron strings.

Bake lychee pie
In your sky-high stilettos.
When he makes choices make sure your voice echoes.
Quell bile and temper and monthly mood swings.
Don’t get a knot in your old apron strings.

When he talks tosh,
when his ire stings,
when his ramblings drag—
remember, don’t tangle your old apron strings
and purge the pained urge to nag!