It can just, you know, eat
its way through your upper
epithelial layer. We need
thirty thousand of them,
the government has twelve.
That’s officially not a dry cough.
It’s not true about eating
a bunch of garlic. The numbers
are getting so big, I saw
the spirit of heaven descending
like a dove. You’ll be taught
to sit and repeat a sacred word.
You have to call those things
which be not. Think of
the coronavirus as blue paint.
You can go from being chained
to a tank to being free to live
the life you want. The media
has been much nicer, but I
shouldn’t say that. Like
there’s these expectations,
try not to hold any.
3/19/20: Sources: CSPAN, WPIX, AMVO, NEWSY, WPIX again, BIBLE, EWTN, TBN, OWN, RENEW, WVNA, STDIO
Laurinda Lind lives in New York’s North Country. Some publications/acceptances are in Blue Earth Review, Midwest Quarterly, New American Writing, Paterson Literary Review, and Spillway; also anthologies Visiting Bob: Poems Inspired by the Life and Work of Bob Dylan (New Rivers Press) and AFTERMATH: Explorations of Loss and Grief (Radix Media).
califragile.org 