Two hundred people died the other day
from virus, but snow still tiptoes here:
winter tires keeping us steady
on a legacy of cracked pavement
and speed bumps.
This is the way of the universe:
the sun doesn’t care
if corpses stare at an eclipse,
the moon remains
regulating tides
as lungs fill with fluid,
that earth-like planet
discovered last year
thinks we are just a theory
or plot point in a low budget science fiction movie-
our collective deaths a whisper
from the lips of a god
who never was,
the heavens outliving us, half dead though
because of lies told at the speed of light,
some stars faking life
like too many of us do
while complaining about vacations to Italy
being canceled.
Image is an artist rendition of the shape of the coronavirus. Yes, it is heartshaped. We believe this is to remind us to use this time to come together.
TO SUBMIT YOUR POEM TO THIS SECTION
Beautiful.