Leaving Lockdown

I just found out I’ll leave my house for days
next month, and move in with my child’s kid.
It’s near a year since I have parted ways
with customary habits. I’ve been bid
to care a little more and close for one
I’ve sheltered and attended to for years.
Of course it will be work, but also fun
(we smile most when no one interferes).

I’ll be away from exercise at home,
my privacy, the bottles on my shelf.
I’ll have to plan ahead to post a poem
(reluctant to suspend the streak I self-
assigned). Although release should have me cheered,
I’ve been so long sequestered, this feels weird.

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Behind Control

I like control, but not to govern you.
I only want the edges of my space,
four times my reach, about my neck and face,
to hold what I’ve selected. There are few
events or things I need within my view,
and I’ll attempt to manage them with grace.
I like control.

Did I feel too unsafe before I grew?
Could that be why I yearn to set the pace?
Was insufficient parenting my case?
Of late we are debating which is true.
I like control.

(Rondine)

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No Long Game

He never really had a game at all.
He goes by gut instead of strategy.
His long and short are both inanity.
His attitude is negligence and brawl.

His notions, unoriginal and small,
are toddler images of potency.
He never really had a game at all.
He goes by gut instead of strategy.

We know that evolution favors gall.
The slash-and-burn attain the victory.
But other rulers leave SOME legacy –
Old 45 bequeaths a caterwaul.
He never really had a game at all.

(Rondel)

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Say What?

The challenge in writing a poem every day
is sometimes I really have nothing to say.
For though I’ve been blessed with a vigorous brain,
and learned at age 6 how to self-entertain,
I’m dwelling in an isolated state.
I interact with few, and only twice
a week do I in person congregate,
or eat a meal I didn’t slice and spice.
I nearly every evening watch a lot of cable news,
but I don’t want outrage to make the topic for my pen.
Admittedly I’ve written some that argue or accuse,
but I will bore myself if I resort to that again,
today.

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The Appointment

It came to pass on day three thirty two
of lockdown. Someone jabbed my upper arm.
Although I thought no shot would fix this flu,
and harbored doubts about the speed and tests,
as soon as my appointed time came through,
I felt my stress reduce. I still believe
we’re broken and more virus will ensue,
but scheduling vaccine was like a charm
that turned my head and edited my view.

(Magic 9)

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40 Feet on 40 Days

Near 700 years ago, there raged
Bubonic plague some people named Black Death.
The cause and too the remedy engaged
the best and worst of minds. What stole the breath
and rotted nodes was neither understood
nor cured – the smart defense was keeping clean,
avoiding crowds, reducing neighborhood
for 40 days at least: called quarantine.

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Bad Faith and the GOP

The silence of no platform has been sweet,
but bad behavior still gets nourishment.
The idiot is gone – he doesn’t tweet
and maybe won’t disrupt the government
again, but here’s a rottenness revealed –
as soon as we removed his alpha stink,
the sycophant politicos congealed
and coursed, and showed the depths to which they’ll sink.

The GOP has faded to a wraith
of what conservative should really mean.
The actors only practice now bad faith
instead of skill or fair debate. The scene
is true disorder, and a failing plan.
It wasn’t just that awful venal man.

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About Eyesight

Our vision captures objects when they move.
We notice what we’ve lately had in mind.
That leaves a wealth of world to which we’re blind.

If pregnancy or injury’s your groove,
you’ll keep on seeing others of your kind.
Our vision captures objects when they move.
We notice what we’ve lately had in mind.

In dark of night you’re sightless, until you’ve
a target by mobility defined,
or focused by your eyes sideways inclined.
Our vision captures objects when they move.
We notice what we’ve lately had in mind.
That leaves a wealth of world to which we’re blind.

(English Madrigal)

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Plague Thoughts

Bubonic plague took millions and endured
for centuries, to varying degrees.
Apparently it wasn’t ever cured,
but hygiene and less crowding brought decrease.
World population dropped by near a third,
allowing the survivors bath and breeze.
I wonder: Did the sufferers receive
remedial advice they could believe?

(Ottava Rima)

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Avocado Tragicomedy

A week ago, when buying groceries,
the avocados were too hard and green
to use, but still I purchased to appease
my lust for luncheon salad. I machine
through half a day since house arrest began
and, honestly, I haven’t tired yet.
A heap with cheese and seeds becomes my plan.
I toss it with balsamic vinaigrette.

But last week’s avocados are like rocks.
They haven’t ripened and perhaps will not?
I visited the small store near my block.
They had a few too soft – I groped and bought
the best I found, in hopes it had some taste.
The flesh was perfect! Nothing went to waste.

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