A few days ago Susan and I began our thirty-third year together. Our back stories could not have been more diverse. She was an undergrad at “Big Blue” on her way to a big city law school, and I was an orphan with a GED courtesy of Uncle Sam. She
this pirouette with a pestilencethis bop with the blightin tempo lightly scoredby a guiding light refrainof recurrent disaster capital promenade all PPEto times nine of market value mist and frisk and dismissventilators
Headlines have made me a head caseNewscast are dispatching the mopesa dose of morose and dolefulnessand analytics are erasing all hopes But the powers that be assure methat my jitters don’t jibe
I fret when I feelthe verse too rehearsedthe line too on timethe abstract too exact—or an interior rhyme toorefine, sublime, or—one trick tony I pony up to runon the rail—thenafraid to fail,
Coin flip the alliterations; politics in a pervasiveculture in a contagionpersuasiom in a pandemicpromise in a pestilenceideology in an infirmityfranchise in an infectionrepublic in a rampanttally without a tenet NaPoWriMo April 2020.