by Paul Willis

“Zoom says remote working is here to stay.”
—Today News Post

My audio is cutting out,
the chat has thrown a fit.
The ring light has begun to blink:
my face is barely lit.

My breakout room has broken down,
my screen share is a miser.
The URL has gotten lost,
and I am none the wiser.

The gallery has now become
the mug shots of ex-cons—
or yearbook portraits come alive
to haunt our dusks and dawns.

We Zoom Zoom Zoom both day and night
the length of this pandemic,
and now we’re Zoom Zoom zombies,
for the curse has gone systemic.

I do not wish to see you hid
among those little squares;
I wish that little virus would
just take us unawares.

In heaven, at least, we’ll recognize
each other face to face;
and that is some improvement on
this Zoomish, hellish place.

I know a bright, young man who made
his millions on Zoom stock;
I think that he should promptly be
put under key and lock.

I think he should be made to stare
upon the screen all day,
and when he dies, stark raving mad,
to send his bucks my way.

I’d buy a lush, green island—say,
the Isle of Innisfree—
and there among the clean bean rows
I’ll let you live with me.

We will have no computers there,
our phones will just be dumb.
The only things that fizz and Zoom
will be our Cokes and rum.

Oh, won’t it be tremendous there!
Oh, won’t it just be grand!
We’ll banish all technology
and live upon the land.

But when I have to take a job
that’s all too far away,
I’ll Zoom with you, and you with me
(lamentable apostasy!)—
for Zoom is here to stay.