ok.

Today was just crisp air and crunchy leaves
as I walked through the woods at my work.
I was playing pretend again, all dressed up,
like I was a responsible and mature employee
but, inside I'm just a child, barely getting by.

Pandemic

Did you ever stagger to the bathroom,
so half asleep, that you don't know if it's a dream?
This is that. It's a slow fog creepin' in, as you drive,
so spaced out that when you park
you don't know how you arrived.
How did I get here?

(dissociate)

This is that. You don't know if you're alive.
But commute, cough, telecommute, mask, hide
at least we might survive---this.
It's never-ending. It's that perpetual pause.
It's that eventual breath-in and sigh-out.
Ok, now withdrawing, it's tired gnawing.
Have you ever felt that? This is that.

Poem I wrote this morning:

Poetic justice, natural consequence;
Call it what you will.
Maybe hubris or Icarus
Flying towards the sun.
Some say he got his just desserts,
Which makes me think of Klingons
(Revenge is a dish best served cold)
I suppose he did 'just get served.'
And Golly, it does seem so cold
How we have turned away to gloat.
Oh, call it what you will!
I don't care; All I know is,
The President tested positive for COVID today;
And I don't know what to say.