We are shutdown.
There will be no prepared
Parvenu face at my door.
So I will wear the beloved
I could not wear before.
With no fear of any gentlemanly visit,
I will slouch in any posture,
In any cluttered corner sit.
I will play the music nobody but me
Fancies, and be short, brief, and nasty
To Whatsapp dunces.
I will sing in the bathroom as I did
When I was but an energetic kid.
In the kitchen I will cook outrageous
Dishes, cocking a snook at
When I am tired, I will lie askew
on a rough and tumble floor,
and reject the infected world
with therapeutic snore.
I will thumb through books nobody
May read, unshackled from the
Baggage of an academic creed.
When some rogue guru delivers
Homily at prime hour, I shall press
The mute button and shout
“get thee gone slime, I am wise to Lucifer.”
Besides, think how many spoilers in high places
Corona embraces. That thought too
Is grist in quotidian quarantine.
Where other things have failed,–
Nationalism, religions, war–
How a sightless bug unites us all,
Obliterating contentions of yours and mine
From low to high, near to far.
May be bugs are the answer to a world
Gone mad. Bring on the bugs
They spare no cad.