the morning is bright
a plane is descending
the city is quiet,
except for Robin, chirping
in the maple
past my window
my lady is weaving at her loom
my Kitty is begging for butter
by the end of the day, seventy-thousand Americans
will have died from complications due to COVID-19
the news is increasingly grim, politicians
telling us to be prepare for greater losses
telling us that Americans must sacrifice
like we did in the second World War
this time we march into the maw of a beast
en masse through the plague of COVID-19
feeding the economy like a cannibal-god
seventy thousand by the end of the day
the discarded dead are frozen husks
racked and packed in refrigerated trucks
