|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,
for the two hundredth time. Under quarantine,
Or frequent my friendly local barista.
Of course, it’s a great excuse to get work done.
Just make sure you spell coronavirus correctly.
Nor my imagination. So the words that come out
They’re all just whining. And why would I think that
I envy the bear. He hibernates
This virus is my winter.
|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.|