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. 
                        

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.