Inside The Circus of Our Quarantine

Our secret misbehaviors

Photo by JD Designs on Unsplash

if there were a pedestal
you’d be beside it
on the floor
in pieces
for how far you have fallen
and how wrong I was about
who you were

and you
you stalk me
muttering
counting the myriad mistakes
I make
and when you speak
your voice leaks
liquid disappointment
like tears

tonight again,
death and mayhem
on the box,
I grow impatient with
(translation: I want to kill)
this coiffed Dr Birx
in her silken scarves
not speaking
truth to power
or even to a craven
malevolent dwarf of a
weakling who cannot
stop lying

and you look at me
like I’m a child
for expecting truth
to matter
what compromises
must be made
by grownups…