A Pandemic Nightmare Humor
Fell asleep, drooled ink on my pillowsheet.
Would this wise and wondrous dream be complete
by moonlight or dawn?
Fright! Look at my lawn!
O joy — my muse launched out all toilet sheets.
What a pandemic nightmare, verses span
from house to house, a neighborly can-can.
Should be holiday lights,
verbage that’s out of sight,
a spread of snow — not a Poe-sy afghan.
Hiding the evidence, wiping my hand,
but ink is witty and gritty like sand.
I find I can’t erase
what’s written on my face.
Second best, I smile as if it was planned.
Neighbors are horrified — shielding their kids,
holding them close, shushing, closing their lids.
But little monsters join in,
papering words for a win.
Poets will be poets, kids will be kids.
11/25/2020
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