Another Coronavirus Poem On Cue by John Grey

It’s been a time when I’ve realized
there are worse things than being sick.Like boredom for example. Or solitude.
At least when I’m ill, I can lie

on the couch all day without guilt,
watch “Casablanca” or “All About Eve”

for the two hundredth time. Under quarantine,
I can’t go to a bookstore. Or visit friends.

Or frequent my friendly local barista.
Or eat Italian that doesn’t come out of a can.

Of course, it’s a great excuse to get work done.
Write a poem, my head tells me. Write a poem.

Just make sure you spell coronavirus correctly.
But I can’t engage my heart in the process.

Nor my imagination. So the words that come out
are about as poetic as a car wash menu.

They’re all just whining. And why would I think that
my complaining cold be any kind of comfort to yours.

I envy the bear. He hibernates
through the misery of winter.

This virus is my winter.
I’ll just call my poem “zzz” be done with it.

John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in Sin Fronteras, Dalhousie Review and Qwerty with work upcoming in Plainsongs, Willard and Maple and Connecticut River Review.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *