Coronavirus #1
Craving a plague to explain the malaise of a
frog slowly boiling in a pot of climate change
some punishment to pay debt piled to the moon
a reason to march to a death we can understand
together
holding hands
no matter how much DNA we sequence
we can’t make medicine to cure what ails us
until we develop a microscope that
peers
deep
we strap on masks and can’t quite hear
the muffled mumbles
like tourists who don’t speak the language
we read eyes
we swim in the stench of what unites us
afraid to take a breath
This poem by Mike Wilson recently appeared in Hitchlit Review, Vol. 3, Issue 2, Autumn 2020
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