by Bruce Bennett

—after Dorothy Parker … and despite Donald J. Trump

Rays can cause cancer.
Bleach makes you sick.
Lysol’s the answer?
That kills you quick!
Hydroxychloroquine’s
fatal, like lye.
All ways, the virus wins.
Might as well die.

by Dan Campion

“I have instructed the United States Navy to shoot down and destroy any and all Iranian gunboats if they harass our ships at sea.”
—A tweet from President Donald J. Trump

Sir, be advised: no gunboats fly.
They’re darn hard to “shoot down.”
We could, I guess, aim for the sky,
Though gunner’s mates may frown;

They’re more accustomed, sir, to aim
Directly at their foe.
So please you, if it’s all the same,
At gunboats, we’ll shoot low.

by Philip Kitcher

Today the store is empty-ish, and everyone is masked.
We push our carts politely, and we step aside when asked.
Although the shelves are sparsely stocked, they now have flour at least
But no yeast.

The fish is plainly past its best, the dairy case is bare,
The produce is depleted—will we have to live on air?
Two boxes of spaghetti need to last three nights … or four …
Maybe more … ?

I’m starting to grow desperate, I’m almost out of time.
Perhaps I’ll make a pasta sauce from okra and a lime?
No garlic, no tomatoes—I find just one can of beans
And no greens.

Supplies are looking meager as I reach the liquor aisle
And there behold a vision sure to make a shopper smile.
I grab a case of red and then I join the checkout line.
We’ll be fine.

by Bruce Bennett

I used to only lose my gloves.
I now can’t find my mask.
Life’s pushes have turned into shoves.
I’m not up to the task

Of daily living in these days
of chaos and of strife.
It’s possible it’s just a phase,
but please! Don’t ask my wife.

by Alex Steelsmith

In 430 BC, Thucydides contracted and survived the Plague of Athens, which killed an estimated 75,000 to 100,000 people. According to Wikipedia, he “developed an understanding of human nature to explain behavior in such crises as plagues…” and “has been dubbed the father of ‘scientific history.’”

Wikidy sickedy
Father Thucydides
lived through, and wrote of, a
virus from hell,

though he was said to have
multimorbidities
and, scholars tell us, no
hoard of Purell.

by Katherine Barrett Swett

April snow
Will quickly go.
Like children’s tears
It disappears.
There’s fast relief
For this small grief.

by Chris O’Carroll

Now that he’s not holding rallies,
How can we express defiance
Of the social distance rules that
Denigrate our self-reliance?

Democrats are nanny-staters
Who arouse our indignation.
Let’s breathe on each other at an
Anti-lockdown demonstration.

When he contradicts the science,
That’s a message to inspire us.
He’s a president to die for.
In your face, coronavirus.

by Alex Steelsmith

“Lt. Gov. Josh Green today questioned a controversial plan to release low-risk jail inmates
to try to block the spread of the new coronavirus… telling state senators that…
‘prison is safer than Costco.’”
—The Honolulu Star-Advertiser

Waiting in line at the popular megastore,
six feet apart, we have reason to sulk;
everyone knows they are all out of Charmin, but
Covid-19? You can get it in bulk.

by James Hamby

To those upon whose backs this country’s built:
We bourgeoisie are feeling loads of guilt;

So, sorry for your barely-living wage,
The times your unions made us rant and rage;

For no time off for sickness or to grieve,
And never giving you parental leave;

For fighting all your bids for better care
(That one seems big now, guess you got us there).

So grocery store workers, one and all,
And farmers, servers, janitors, stand tall!

Today, our heroes, we give thanks to you!
(But we’ll forget it all when this is through).

by Paul Willis

After a month of sheltering in place,
you’d think we’d finally have the guts to face
the possibility of illness, death—
dry coughing, burning lungs, the loss of breath.
But no, the most important thing for us
is who beat whom in Scrabble—all the fuss
of triple-word scores, arcane spellings, where
the Qs and Zs and Xs might prepare
their owners for decisive victory.
So we distract ourselves, so nightly we
persist by thinking numbers of the dead
could not call up our number, leave unsaid
the randomness of letters we may draw—
all vowels, all consonants stuck in our craw—
forgetting the grim reaper soon may spell
our way to heaven or our way to hell.
But what, I pray, is the alternative?
To watch the news incessantly? To live
as if the plague were all we have of life—
press briefings, experts, presidential strife?
I say, Play on. I say, What is the score?
The game is over. Let’s play one game more.

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.