The world’s gone bonkers; there’s no doubt.
We’re closeted by those with clout.
We simply can’t come out to play.
The virus has to go away
Because we cannot schmooze.
My muscles sag. My nerves, they knot.
My language, it has gone to pot.
I don’t hold back a darn or heck.
The house is clean, but I’m a wreck
Because we cannot schmooze.
It’s growing harder to assess
My errant need to underdress.
In leggings, PJs, sneaks and sweats,
I cruise the town with no regrets
Because we cannot schmooze.
We stare at screens to catch a glance
Of folks who can’t see we’ve no pants.
We splurge on foods to snack in beds.
We’re bleary eyed with pounding heads.
Because we cannot schmooze.
We want to wear our fancy clothes
And breathe fresh air with unmasked nose.
We want to push and shove and hug,
And yet we can’t without a drug.
Because we cannot schmooze.
Get lost, Corona. Hit the bricks.
We’re sick of science, politics.
We’ve had enough, and we don’t care
Just get out of our uncut hair.
Because we cannot schmooze.
Pandemic life has no panache.
But will it come out in the wash?
c2021 by Linda Ann Nickerson
This poem incorporates a variety of prompts:
- Meme Express (“gut feeling”)
- Simply Snickers (“snooze” and “lose”)
Image: Adapted from illustration by Louis Le Breton, 1863, public domain
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