Normal Poem

 

This is a normal poem for normal times.

Like normal poems, it normally rhymes.

 

It goes to the store—without masking up.

It hugs its grandmother; she sings at worship.

 

This poem goes to concerts—makes dinner for friends!

This poem is so friendly it overextends.

 

It only thinks “swabs” when it thinks about Q.

It’s as open to me as it’s open to you.

 

It likes regular stanzas: all lines in their place.

It doesn’t know chaos or shared live/work space.

 

It goes to the office; this poem’s a commuter.

It gets down to business on a desk-top computer.

 

This poem does not zoom.  This poem does not go.

It’s an end-stopped pre-covid old-timey memento.