It’s beginning to sound like pre-plague sneezing
Ev’ry nose we blow
Takes us down to the store, again; for tissues and cough drops, then
The doctor’s office, where the co-pays flow.
It’s beginning to sound like pre-plague wheezing
Sick beds on the floors
And the neighbors and we will be – hanging signs of quarantine
On our own front doors.
©2019 Chelsea Owens