Dispatch #075

Bald Rapunzel

by Robert E. Petras

Me—leaning over the balcony,
Confined for a 14-day sentence
To the garage apartment,
Found guilty by nose swab,
The negative positive of these times.
My wife drops off my food on the stoop
Like an abandoned baby,
Food I couldn’t taste anyway,
Not even salt-and-vinnies,
Nor the Amish mac and cheese.
Beer tasted like my own contaminated spit.
I am a domino taken out
From the masked mases,
All six feet of me socially estranged
During these strange days, leaving me
Climbing the walls, clawing the panels,
Binge-watching the hours.

Sent to us: February 5, 2021


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