Corona Gone
The sun fell down,
And broke its crown,
The dollars came tumbling after.
Sneezles and dweebles
Racked up all the peoples,
Drowned out in all the laughter.
Maybe you ought take a pill
And go for a finer thrill;
Tomorrow may never come.
Tis a long way home
Where you’re far from Rome;
Make sure your pickle is dill.
He’s got all the ventilators
Certified by prime aggregators;
Are you sure his lapel mic’s on?
Forget Southern Nights,
Time for Last Rites,
She’s gonna be corona gone.
How do you give someone a hug
Keeping six feet apart on a rug?
May I ask: are you a believer?
Tell everyone I love them so,
And I will miss them when I go—
This morning I got up with a fever…
Posted on May 13, 2020, in Poem and tagged $1, 200 checks, 6 Feet Apart, approaching Death, Corona Virus, covid-19, dill pickle, dollars, fever, hug, inventory control, Last Rites, love, Mitigation Protocols, Novel Corona Virus Number 19, PPP, press briefings, regrets, supply chain, ventilators. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.
Kitt
pueriles 