Quaran-teened (Or, “Boredom,” A terza rima poem about the pandemic )

By JOEY BAUNOCH

I’ve spent my days with little else to do

Except to pace around my cluttered room

Or watch the sun shine on the morning dew.

 

My room is gloomy – it feels like my tomb

Because there’s nobody to talk to here

I’m waiting for my life to reillume.

 

If this pandemic is a new frontier

(Maybe Plague Inc was onto somethiNg there)

Then I am forced to be a pioneer.


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