Pandemic Poems - APRIL 2020
For This I Pray
I never used to pray for hand sanitizer or bleach. Is there toilet paper today? I wash my hands the way the YouTube videos teach, I never used to. I pray all my family are okay. Hoarders hover and leech all the toilet paper. Today I surprisingly find a stray— no breach for my breech, I never used to pray. My mother used to say don’t be wasteful. Preach about toilet paper? No way! My stomach roils my new buffet. Why did I eat that peach? I never used to pray— Lord give me toilet paper today.
A Lovely Visual
My dog, Maggie, buries toilet paper-- tubes-of-plenty--a many-year ritual. Spring blossoms burgeon then taper. They glisten in the silvery vapor of dawn’s dew—such a lovely visual. My dog, Maggie, buries toilet paper. Her dogged digging, no more a caper but a blooming addiction. Habitual-- blossoms burgeon in spring then taper, rooted in soil, with a lush, pulpy sapor-- its amendments rich, but unconventional. My dog, Maggie, buries toilet paper-- you cannot find a more avid landscaper. Her composting frantic—madly perpetual-- as spring blossoms burgeon than taper and Covid-19 heightens her labor, I see an amazing sight—most unusual-- my dog, Maggie, buried in toilet paper blossoms I hope burgeon, not taper.
©2020 Charlotte Rea
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