The country’s not on fire and I don’t play violin,
and certainly I’ve never been in charge.
But health and trade are dire and catastrophe might win,
for autocratic attitude looms large.
I wish that there was more I could contribute than a poem,
but I got old while waiting for this time,
and though I can’t be sure it’s best to hunker in my home,
as long as I’m confined, I’ll donate rhyme.
I don’t expect to earn a dime composing poetry,
but I collect a living here and there.
Alone each day I turn away from shopping currently,
and thereby have some dollars I can spare.