A FORMLESS PANDEMIC POEM
by
Dennis Wall
The boxes have all been emptied today
What was inside, is outside and here to stay.
That is where I was going to stop
This poem, not living.
It's plain this gift keeps on giving:
Not poem, not life, stop.
After the boxes I tackled the newspaper pile
Went online, read and tweeted for awhile
Locked the double gate after the pool man came and went
Next comes cable guy, a person Spec sent.
Was going to ledger the debits
This week for sprinklers and plumbing
But I'd already crunched those digits.
(The fence too; nails sang with drumming.)
So it's on through the day remaining,
Yet wait I hear but do not see more --
Don't know what is coming,
but it's coming, that's sure.
P.S.
I also wrote this poem.
Don't fold your cards, show 'em.
Comments