If still alive when the pandemic passes
Will anyone be willing to get off their…chairs?
The cloistered world of expanded mind
Fits, as time goes by.
Patches from old songs flitter
Among recycling litter “As Time Goes By.”
Jumping spider in the tub
Takes on significance, that’s the rub.
The phone sings its cradled song
As mail from good causes go unopened.
Poets need not rhyme; or not;
Nor dress. Time o’erflows with polka-dotted
nights, several times a day.
Outside, a passing motorcycle farts
and while I ply my art alone I find
that self-quarantine works for me
just fine.
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