My cousin Kirk’s trip to Mexico to visit me prior to Christmas has been cancelled thanks to the surge in deaths caused by the new Covid strain, and I want to thank all you non-maskers who made this disappointment possible. This poem is to him. It is a promise of what is to come, I hope, in the not-too-far-future!
When Next (If Ever) We Meet
It will be a holiday way beyond describing—
talking and exploring and swimming and imbibing.
There’ll be a palisade of nachos that we’ll have to scale,
but no turnips and no liver, no spinach and no kale!
We’ll be kids again and do everything we crave—
no need to mind anyone and no need to behave.
No duties to attend to or tasks that escalate,
no pesky obligations that secretly we hate.
When we finally get together, fun will be our only task.
There’s just one rule to follow—we gotta wear a mask!!!