In planning for a place remote,
considering a life afloat.
I might collaborate with friends
so we can meet communal ends
planning out a scheme for life
far away from pain and strife.
We’d set a mutual course on seas
far away from the disease
that snakes its way as it might please.
And having learned our lesson well,
we’d escape this landlocked Hell
and float in colonies off shore,
keeping at least ten feet or more
apart until the curse was through
and we could start our lives anew.
But, alas, I have no yacht
and a sailor I am not,
So my sailing schemes are shot!
Instead, I’ll sail a sea of dreams
and face the threat landlocked, it seems!
So don’t drop in for a small visit.
A social life’s not healthy, is it?
I’ll pass my social life alone
chatting on the telephone
attired in my sleeping togs,
stroking the cats, patting the dogs,
communicating on my blogs
with all the humans I have left.
in a sequestered world bereft
of face-to-face and hip-to-hip,
let alone of lip-to-lip!!
This too shall pass, optimists say.
The world will see a brighter day.
We’ve survived aids, the plague and SARS,
global warming (so far) and cars.
We’re the universe’s superstars.
Strangely enough, no matter how many times I center this poem, every other stanza wants to separate itself from the stanzas that precede and follow it. Strangely enough, it echoes the theme, so instead of trying to center it for the third time, I am just going to leave it as is.