TO AN ATHLETE DYING YOUNG
by AE "Stay in the" Houseman

The day you won your town the race
You wore a mask upon your face;
And you would now still be alive
If it had been N95.

Bravo, Roger! If you have already created a parody of 'Into my heart an air that kills' I ask the moderator to delete mine forthwith.

Into my heart an air that kills
from yon far country blows.
What is that cruel virus that spills,
what ugly masks are those?

Where is the land of lost content,
now will you please explain
the empty highways where I went
and may not come again.

Going viral

A virus may press up against you
on the tube, but at least it has the decency
to call you back after a one-night stand.
Yet just when think the virus belongs to you,
you see it on Facebook getting in on
with Sharon from the office, or Bob
who you almost knew in middle school. No one
can really own a virus, and this
makes the virus happy as it stretches out
in its deckchair in the park,
enjoying the Bank Holiday weekend
and ignoring your calls. The virus
has taken off its shirt, and it’s not wearing
any sun-block. Its transistor radio
is playing just a fraction too loud
as it lights a tinfoil barbecue and places it
directly on the grass. A virus
can be remarkably hard to retract
if you accidentally blurt it out, say,
when you’re expecting the answerphone,
readying your carefully rehearsed message,
and then the virus picks up unexpectedly.
At home, the virus kicks back and relaxes
with reruns of I dream of Jeannie
and doesn’t get bored. This virus
is the sort of virus that fancies itself
as a genie. It likes the idea of granting wishes
that get out of hand in ways you didn’t see coming.
And you know how it goes with genies:
pop the stopper, rub your ungloved hand
up against the brass, and out it comes,
suddenly too big to fit back in again.
The virus is always just passing through.
It has grown fond of farewells.
It likes to wave goodbye,
then pause, and wave again.

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Matt, perfect.

The virus is just another muse in disguise.

And Roger, Derek, we all fall down. (Btw Derek, you are the oldest new member I've seen here. Welcome. Pull up a rocker : )
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Alas,Jim, a rocker might be a bit high tech for me!

placed for publication

Lonely with Huck


https://www.bing.com/news/search?q=B...2020&FORM=EWRE

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Nicely done Ralph. Atrocities are proliferating across America and the globe. Perhaps I should revisit the adventures of Huck to see what I might see...
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Thanks, Jim. It's the subtlest anti-slavery/anti-racist novel in existence--with a shallow illusion of pro-slavery sentiment for sloppy southern readers and for supposedly educated readers (as many students, including grad students, have proven to me) even now.

To Croak or Not to Croak

In this bog, agog, I fear extinction
So pray that You, eternal One, will grace
Me time to sort my sins, ask forgiveness
Which Your holiness gave me before.
Your immutability guarantees
A just assessment of my mottled self
With mercy both for me and mine unbounded
Here, fully stretching shore to shore.
Your omnipotence created all
We know. You are, of course, omniscient
And omnipresent as I now pray for us,
All humble in this world of pad and lily.
You know if pollywogs and I will survive
And wake again within this pleasant pond
So blessed with butterflies and bugs.
O Gog of all the Bullfrog bogs and species,
I croak, Afrog.


Martial Law, soon.

Hmm, I don't perceive any pro-slavery sentiment in Huck Finn and I would be surprised if anyone literate enough to read the book came away with a pro-slavery impression. Quite overwhelmingly the contrary.