By M.E. Muir
Variants swarm across the town
first infant grows wild
on granular mutations
morphs to the vicious thug
robbing tomorrow
penetration steps up aggression
no touching
lonesome isolation
sets a single knife and fork
waits for the postman
new strains transmit uncertainty
tiers of sadness
pile on Mount Ossa’s
sharpened peak
struggle to reach
the comfort of resignation
viral acceptance
a cruel wound
as future trickles sadly down
its lonely road.
Frankly being retired these days WFH is much as usual. I just miss seeing real people. Zoom is no substitute though I rather prefer the more chaotic Houseparty.