It was reassuring to hear February at last gone
unprecedented, March changed everything
with an all-pervasive sense of uncertainty
April’s fear and anxiety took a while to register
eclipsing an entire year.
For once, we were threadbare,
our verity of being in control, having conquered Mars,
and sequenced the DNA dissipated.
May tore our core – beset by a spiteful virus
we were left burying the dead; counting the sick,
June threw a curveball;
behind masks, plexiglass screens, and barriers
Lockdown & Social Distancing became the norm.
Oft, I did assure myself the next moon will pass by in a flash
having now realized Life’s what’s and what’s not important
still, I miss my too-much-to-do-with-little-time lifestyle.
Sometimes in July, overwhelmed, I learned:
Peace is gold; friends and family priceless,
Giving is worthy; Money naught a be-all-and-end-all,
Reading is doing something, not doing nothing,
ZOOM nay the sole preserve of my son’s GF,
Mowing the lawn therapeutic.
And just before August break and the torrent in September
all knew the why, the what, the how, and the fix
yet its effects ricocheted through every alley –
from Brooklyn to Burma, Laos to Lagos, Paris to Peking.
Few dared; many had to sit on the couch and
pray for our heroes on the frontlines.
October, no cure yet,
the man on the right driving me nuts with his tweets
thinks it’s OK to drink bleach.
On the left, his adversary, who is in his second childhood
affirms mandatory mask is the wand
perhaps November’s hard-fought fraud-rumored victory
is the brain surgery we need to heal
before December bids goodbye –
the collective renaissance to combat a foe
that has rendered everything antediluvian.
My sincere regards, dear January, permit me, however, to
take a deep breath and scream: “2021 all hopes on you!”
Copyright © Ugo Nkwoala | Spilledwoords.org | 2020