Plague Poems – The Second Week

Needing the air, I
briefly
stepped outside.

Fearing the others
needing the air, I
swiftly
stepped inside.

If I had children
I would tell them
not to be
frightened.

If they were to
ask me what
was being
done
I would reassure
them that the
adults were
working
(without sleep)
to fix
everything.

It is a relief to not
have children
as it spares me
from having to

lie
to them.

“Drive through
testing,
sounds wise!”
I say.

Forgetting
that I
do not have
a car.

My bearded friend
has
taken
to wearing
a mask
whenever
he goes
outside.

“If you refuse to
shave
your beard”
I warned, “your
mask will not
protect
you from
the virus!”

“Yes, yes, I
know that”
replied my bearded friend,
“but do you
think
the virus
knows that
too?”

Editorial Note: This is a collection of Plague Poems written between March 22, 2020 and March 28, 2020.

They were initially posted online on Twitter at @PlaguePoems.

Throughout the duration of this crisis new poems will be posted regularly at that Twitter account, they will then be collected and reposted here in weekly increments.

In times of
crisis
we must all be
willing to make
sacrifices
for the greater
good.

Alas, I have
recently
learned that
when our leaders
speak
of the greater
good
they do not mean
you or I.

We look back at past
civilizations
that practiced human
sacrifice
and call them barbaric.

How ridiculous to
sacrifice human lives
to please an angry
god, or
guarantee a plentiful
harvest!

Future civilizations will
look back at our
human sacrifices and
call us barbaric
too.

It is easy to defy
the widespread
alarm
by noting that
only one or
two or (at most)
three percent will
be killed by this
virus
when you are
confident
that you will not be
amongst that one
or two or (at most)
three percent.

In the midst of the
crisis
our leaders exhort
us to look ahead
to the brighter
days
that they assure
us will be coming
soon.

I fear, either
our leaders
have not read
the news
or they are
not being
honest
with us.

According to my
great aunt
it is most likely
both.

The pleasure of
having ample time to write
is diminished
when that time
is consumed
not by your pen
but by your
anxiety.

By the time the
checks
for twelve hundred dollars
begin appearing in
mailboxes
those who most
desperately need them
will have (already)
been evicted

They say twelve
hundred dollars
is a pretty
good pile.

Sackcloth
is cheap
and it’s always
in style.

Philosophers have devoted
innumerable hours
to determining
what a human
life
is worth.

But now
they (at last)
have a
definitive
answer.

For we now know
that a human
life
is worth
twelve hundred
dollars.

The unemployment numbers
make clear just
how many
people
are no longer working due
to this crisis.

Yes, but the crisis also
makes clear just
how many
parts of our
society
are no longer working
either.

It is said (by some)
that capitalism
produces
its own
gravedigger.

Perhaps!
But there
are so many
others
who it buries
first.

As the plague ravaged
the cities
those who had always
hated
the city dwellers
could barely
conceal their grins.

But before the echo
of their laughs had
even ceased
their smirks were
broken
by hacking coughs
issuing from
their own infected
lungs.

To keep the
cruise industry
afloat
it will be necessary
for many of you
to drown.

The world that you
remember
from before you entered
your quarantine
is not the world
into which
you will emerge
when your quarantine
ends.

It is difficult
to know
if you have a
fever
when you do not have
a thermometer.

In the building where
I worked before
the pandemic
there were
many mice

If I sat very still at my
desk
the mice would come
out and explore
in search of
food

Perhaps the mice
will have taken over
the building
by the time
I return

No,
(I should
be realistic)
if I return

When the first whiff of smoke
was detected
we remained
in our seats

As the scent grew
some of us
muttered
but were swiftly
quieted

When the air visibly
darkened
most believed it would
soon dissipate

Now here we sit
in a theater ablaze
wondering
how this movie
will end

Plague Poems…the next week

Plague Poems – The First Week

About Z.M.L

“I do not believe that things will turn out well, but the idea that they might is of decisive importance.” – Max Horkheimer librarianshipwreck.wordpress.com @libshipwreck

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