To flatten the curve, don’t go anywhere—
Not the hills or the plains; get used to long hair.
Maybe you’ll tango, and maybe you won’t,
But when nighttime comes, don’t go out, just don’t.
Tell your young nephew: “I want to stay here;
It’s safer that way, you know it is, dear.
This won’t last forever, though now it seems black;
But here’s where we are, dear, there’s no turning back.
Let’s brush off our tears, child; now give me your hand—
We’ll pray that this Covid will flee from our land.”
Poem © 2020 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More The Whirligig #278
More Writers’ Pantry #32 at Poets and Storytellers United