800 Days

Somebody liked a poem of mine today.
It sounded unfamiliar. I reviewed.
I’d posted it some weeks ago, but they
approved it now. I’m grateful but subdued.
I don’t recall the stanza, though it’s mine;
I recognize the style, recollect
the thinking when composing every line,
but I forgot its substance and aspect.

Perhaps I’ve writ too many poems to date.
I started daily work from house arrest,
when virus made pandemic made me wait
inside. I figured then some weeks at best
(for “quarantine” has 40 as its root) –
800 days, and still this plague’s acute…

This entry was posted in Coronaverse, Poetry, Writing and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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