Lockdown? What Lockdown?

This is how desperate I've become:
I'm folding the laundry and moving
The furniture, rinsing off dishes,
And staring at web sites for places
Which really don't sound all that fun.
I'm forsaking Whitman. I'm done
With the news. I have nowhere to go,
No one I want to see. “It's the virus,”
You're thinking. “We all feel this way,”
But the virus will pass, while my
Desperation, which preceded it,
Will remain.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 19 times
Written on 2021-02-03 at 18:44

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