What Happens After
O COVID with the MO-VID, you murder bug,
Your sweet quarantine champions my gloom.
Never the buff of a handshake or hug,
Serene in the still of my fond hermit room,
Blessed detention, the liberty of walls;
And though this woe suffers me to talk
To those within these connubial halls,
Exposing my hokum, I say Fie to the Pock,
And mop my **** on duplicitous reams
Of Scotts fair ply, though I’m uncertain why
I stalk the isles in this squirreling dream
Most grateful to shop, most willing to buy
What I do not know: what this mad old bastard
Needs from his truth, and what happens after.
Copyright © Craig Sipe | Year Posted 2021
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