Ode to Soap
A repetitive acrostic
Savior of all people Soothe our aching psyches Scrub our appendages pristinely Sluff off atrocious pathogens Secure our antiseptic perimeter Shelter our anxious populace Stop our anguished panic Sterile object assuring purification Substance offering actual prophylaxis Safeguarding orifices against proliferation Scary organism’s armor punctured Sanitary observance attenuating pandemic Simply obey appropriate precautions Social offering of altruistic prevention Sane obsessive addictive preoccupation Staving off agoraphobic paralysis Stalwart opposition against plague Sure, our apprehension predominates Still our actions persist Sanitizing our attitude properly Sparking our angelic praise Sustaining our adoring prostrations Spurring outrageous acrostic poetry April 2020
What Time It is
It's a different kind of morning especially since it's 1:30 in the west coast afternoon still so near solstice I woke up at 5 wondering if the sun had ever gone all the way down last night the all-too-familiar quarantine jitters attending me for no apparent reason and after such a nice dream chat with Governor Newson about the fantastic job he's doing then needlepointing my heebee jeebees into the leopard print eyeglass case that sat for a decade half-done on a high closet shelf until lockdown now almost finished (the needlepoint that is, not lockdown) sewing away until virtual meditation time then a teapot's worth of chats with friends across the bay across the globe Seattle, Toronto, Florence, Italy, Saudi Arabia where it's almost bedtime by now and by the way where no Muslims may travel to Mecca this year for their Hajj pilgrimage due to covid fears which never happened before in all of history except for during the Mongol invasion of 12 hundred something this 5th pillar of Islam and so much else not to be leaned upon just now and the next thing you know it's not morning anymore
Market shelves are emptying out, the unstacked deck revealing the profitability of doing nothing, the industrial average of getting by without A new kind of share is soaring-- the ultimate potlatch-- farmers, pickers, truckers, grocers all exalted in uprisings of perpetual cooperation Invent the verb now for stockpiling goodness in mass proportions May no one scramble May no one suffer alone tonight Have you inventoried yet? Measured the worth of the neighbor you always ignored, now waving greetings from an upper window? Fewer sleep on the street tonight for the first time since never Schools empty out yet matriculation is mandatory as death becomes, once again, our finest and most faithful teacher The hand and the mouth are riskier investments just now but the always eminent heart pays sky-rocketing dividends Let jagged graph lines zigzag their way from heaven to earth The measure we need is round Some essentials are too big to commodify-- the vast arms of god, the hands forever washed in tears Zero unemployment reported tonight, each tending the work that only everyone together can do... the labor of love.
Categories: Poetry, shelter-in-place
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