COVID 19. by John Clayton

I could have had her when I was young

but was too afraid of bats to let her touch me.

Now I am old

but still only know her by reputation.

She’s slippery, they say.  Always changing.

One day an eagle.  The next day a wolf.

Invisible.  Depending on the day.  A changling.

You can not see her, but you will know she was there.

Just listen to the wails

for what she has wrought.

Those poor souls who did not live to tell the tale.

When you can not see her, how can you say you have even fought.

I hear she will set you on fire.

make you dizzy and short of breath.

If you are young and healthy,

kiss her full on the lips, but only if you like danger more than health.

Only 15 and they’ll soon be well.

Many more than that have tolled the bell.

Trust for POTUS should not be rare.

Just don’t trust Bone Spurs, he doesn’t care.

I want to live.  I want to escape.

I will do it by hiding, not wearing a cape.

I will stay in my hole to guard my health,

because life’s breath is all of my wealth.

It’s really very simple, if you don’t get tested,

no one can prove she has visited you.

It doesn’t matter, if you are cold and blue

and it doesn’t matter if she has lain with you.

You’ve only one life.  Only one! Never two.

To the Evil Spirits, Hoodoos and Changlings

raise your glass.

Send them all to Hell.

They can kiss my ass.

CHEERS!

John Clayton lives in rural Maries County, Missouri with his wife, Dawn, on 56 acres where, with the exception of invasive spices and the garden, nature is left to her own devices. John has been published in Gasconade Review and online in Wine Drunk Sidewalk: Ship Wrecked in Trumpland.