The 2020 quarantine.
It’s positively byzantine.
Cooped up just like a submarine
and doing things quite unforeseen.
The window view’s the same old scene:
the tree out front’s an evergreen.
Not buying so much gasoline.
Long walks are now a new routine.
It’s interesting what you glean
by staring at the TV screen:
I’ve watched some tours of Aberdeen,
Saint Augustine, and Bowling Green.
I learned to cook trout almondine,
repair a floor with travertine,
and how to get clothes really clean
I watched a film with Steve McQueen,
stayed up to see The Wolverine,
then, surfing channels, caught a scene
from Gettysburg with Martin Sheen.
I went to get the attic clean
and found my grandma’s soup tureen,
her Royal Doulton figurine,
and diary from age sixteen.
I tried to vary my cuisine
and ate my very first sardine.
I chased it with a nectarine
then finished with a tangerine.
I’m eating junk food in-between;
it does no good for staying lean.
What’s better: more or less caffeine?
Or should I stick with Ovaltine?
I telephoned Eileen, Charlene,
Christine, Kathleen, Rebecca Jean,
Joaquin, Arlene, Eugene, Marlene,
Maureen, Pauline, and Josephine.
I’ve looked at every magazine.
I’m finding books I’ve never seen.
I clean so much the floor’s pristine;
it has a lovely mirrored sheen.
I watch the cat eat, sleep, and preen.
I counted forks. There’re seventeen.
My hair’s all set for Halloween.
My money’s from a cash machine.
This craziness is rather mean;
I need some calm to intervene.
I wish I had a time machine;
I’d like the past to reconvene.
Dr. Thomas J. Donahue
Stock photo credits: Malte Mueller/Getty Images