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.
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).
