Answer:
My corona
The coronavirus looks like a dog toy
or a child’s Koosh ball
with its primary color
and fanciful shape.
How can something so whimsical
be so insidious?
It hasn’t infected me, mind you,
but it has changed me —
morphed into an
odd, complex chimera.
I’ve grown antennae that detect
a six foot field around me.
I’ve developed a fly’s eyes
to see danger on surfaces.
Like a squirrel, I bury food
in nooks and crannies
for a distant time.
I don a carapace
to venture out —
which I shed like a
snakeskin
on return to my door.
I am Lady Macbeth at the sink.
The future keeps receding.
Certainty has collapsed.
Sometimes I am like
the bear,
lumbering out of hibernation —
but mostly, I am like
the ground hog,
waiting
still waiting
to see her
shadow.