Amit Majmudar
COVID-19
Some coven spliced you up, a witch’s brew.
We cover our faces, the eyes above our facemasks haunted, hunted.
One cough, and we’re a covey, flushed into your buckshot.
We deserve this plague: we broke the covenant.
Kings and councillors convene now — and infect each other.
Where will they dispatch their covert operatives?
Any throat might be a cave full of virus.
Evangel, evil angel, you convert cells into virus factories,
Calfskin wallets into vectors,
Ribcages into walking coffins.
Pundits, once so cavalier about you, have gone craven
While statisticians seek to soothsay with the mean and covariance.
You scissor civilization’s ever-threadbare covalent bonds.
So many of our needs have turned out to be conveniences!
Your polyhedral genomic cocoon, a caravel carrying fevers West,
You, you are the true meaning of covfefe.
We are hunted, haunted by an evil angel, but all we can do is cavil.
The realization and the resignation are coeval.
Off with the masks: Apocalypse is Greek for uncovering.
Glass: A Journal of Poetry is published monthly by Glass Poetry Press.
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