New Poem: 5700 CHANNELS

inside most days of the week

turn on regular television 

stories of front lines

bad self-given haircuts

everyday heroism

switch to cable news

president blaming others for disease 

sometimes New York governor joins in

go to streaming services

Netflix now doing dating shows

of the kind I turn on Netflix to avoid

here’s YouTube

sing along with the musicians

locked down in their homes

how I wish to see a concert again 

without catching the disease

find obscure movie channel on tablet

watch Chris Mitchum, son of Robert

in badly dubbed 80s action movie

stop thinking of indoor living for now

get those bad guys, Chris

New Poem: THE DEPUTY SHERIFF WEARS NO MASK

the boss won’t wear one
he calls wearing a mask a nasty word
I wouldn’t allow to be said around Mrs. Pence
>
by the time I got to the Mayo Clinic
I thought about the vanity sin
of defying orders of the clinic
who knows what the virus does
to staff and patients alike
>
but I decided to obey the boss
and the uncouth voters we need
taking a big big risk
hoping God knows
I’m rendering unto Caesar
keeping mental fingers crossed

New Poem: NO RESPONSIBILITY

let that President riff

like a fifth-grader convinced

he can play cornet like Louis Armstrong 

even though said fifth-grader

doesn’t look at a music book

can’t make his mouth form an embouchure

blows out a bunch of flat, air-filled notes

>

he wasn’t being sarcastic when he mused about

UV rays and bleach maybe doing for human insides

what they do for stovetops, tables and other surfaces

>

and then he realizes, lies and waves it away

and an until-now renowned scientist 

follows him almost scarf-deep into the Big Muddy

complaining about how that mean old press

takes a what-if remark and chews on it like gum

for at least two news cycles

>

to the staff, to the attorneys worrying 

about copycat behavior and poisonings,

and especially to the press and TV cameras,

the President says I take no responsibility 

even though he was elected to the highest office

which requires a lot of responsibilities—

such as don’t kill your voters

if you’re intent on being re-elected

to riff again and again

without regard for consequences 

That feeling of helplessness

It’s a Saturday afternoon.  You’re abiding by the new normal of staying home and flattening the infection curve.  You turn on an online telethon to bring money into the Los Angeles Covid-19 fund.

And then you see Rick Lupert—a poet who has dealt out professional and personal discomfort to you.

You know how that went—he’s generally acclaimed in a certain subculture and is being seen today by more people than, say, a typical Cobalt Cafe reading.  By being critical of him, you were seen as a sorehead and a loser.

So there’s a feeling of wanting to find the nearest paper bag and hyperventilate into it.  Plus brooding over mistakes I made and unproductive thoughts.

In any event, it’s  better to stay home (except for trips to supermarket/pharmacy), not infect or be infected and donate to charities and businesses which need cash infusions to pay employees.

That’s all I can do in the present and future.

Better than to muse about who prospers and who doesn’t.

New Poem: FOUND PANDEMIC POEM FROM BOOK TITLES

Is This The Real Life?
Primer Of The Obsolete
Awake In The Dark
Theater Of Memory
Men, Women, And Ghosts
Different Hours
Dreams Gone Mad With Hope

New Poem: DONNIE TALK TO SCIENCE

Loosely inspired by Prince’s “Ronnie Talk To Russia” from CONTROVERSY.

Donnie talk to science
Don’t worry about the base
And the one percenters
Riding this out in the Hamptons
>
Pull the un-lockdown ripcord slowly
Stop making fools of Birx and Fauci
>
Open up your gilded Mar-a-Lago
And your Vegas Strip non-casino hotel
To service workers, homeless
And first responders who need some rest
>
Put an end to your foolish pride
Make testing available nationwide
>
Donnie talk to science
Before there’s no one left alive
To talk to you

New Poem: THE BRIEFING GOES ON WITHOUT ME

it’s every day except for holidays
press keeps social distance in tiny room
except when it moves to Rose Garden
president throws pandemic aside
to yell about Us Versus Them
and punish reporters within and without
>
Anthony and Deborah walk a line
as thin as dental floss
so they can stay in the room
and occasionally talk real science
when not being humiliated
and bent like a Gumby doll
to serve the needs of president and industry
>
cable pundits complain
network execs say he’s the president
so we have to show his bluster and lies
just like his campaign rallies in 16
>
please pull your eyeballs from the screen
read about actual facts and figures
make informed decisions
put the black ink blot in correct circle
to end at least some of this nightmare
when we make it to November

New Poem: A COLD DAY IN AUSTIN

it’s a gray day in downtown Austin
all the people standing too close together
letting Alex Jones who lied about Sandy Hook
do their thinking for them
allowing themselves to risk their lives
as free extras in an InfoWars infomercial
>
I don’t remember reading about
people on the home front in World War 2
protesting en masse
about ration cards and blackouts
and being told not to talk about troop movements
they held fast for almost four years
>
today, we howl like banshees
get the keys to the beach too soon
lust to be free to do harm unto others
after just six weeks

New Poem: IT IS WHAT IT ISN’T

president gets hold of tea party bazooka
tweets the word liberate in all caps
encourages insurgent behavior
wants his fans to get out of their houses
cut off pieces of the golden calf
demand a stunted version of normal
>
death is more than numbers on spreadsheet
much more than a model bent to White House will
it’s family friends neighbors coworkers
doctors nurses online shipping clerks
meat packers ministers actors writers
supermarket checkers and many more
>
make tests available
find out who has it who does not
don’t make Americans play Russian Roulette
give life a chance

New Poem: SHACKLETON’S BOAT

sea is rough
water pours in
rations are low
hard to sleep
>
don’t lose sextant
won’t lose hope
land will appear
we will survive

New Poem: RESOLUTE

Sitting behind the Resolute Desk
Then rising to meet Kings, Queens and Dictators
It may be trying times
I might have to keep social distance
But I will wear no mask
No mask whatsoever
I refuse to look weak
As I require others to be tested,
Waiting for fifteen minutes
Until they, unlike most of America,
Find out they’re virus-free
And safe to be ushered in
To bask in the presence of Resolute Me