Now that I'm infected, time to give Covid a chance to write a poem.

 

Covid Talks Back

 

I just want to survive

(What about him? Let him sleep.)

BTW, I don’t do metaphors:

I really don’t want anything,

You’re the guys who think.

 

Maybe I came from some bloke

In the gym, maybe a patient’s

Cough, three moist shakes

From an unwashed hand,

Whatever: veni caecus vinci.

 

In a few days this little virus

Infected, as it were, Afghanistan

(All right, I do do metaphors)

A body, a country much larger

Than I –Not bad for an enemy

Only half alive! If I could, I’d feel

Proud as a Nazi in Poland.

 

One measly strand of RNA

Managed to lower

His oxygen level to 89

A little bit more and he’d die

I’d have to die with him of course

What comes alter that

Who knows?  Not  I

Without woofs to wake him up

I’m part of no god’s clean-up crew

A mercurial, unconscious,

Insidious dog.

 

The poet stirs cough cough

 

He’s had his vaccinations

Too bad   Expect more poems

Until the day he dies   How sad—

He’s going to survive.