The Curve

I am not a poet like Ovid,
But I can make rhymes with “Covid.”
A right nasty wee virus,
What a curve ball its thrown us.

No visitor to relieve my attention,
As I follow each detailed direction,
My wife sends my way,
While in deep isolation we stay:

“The clothes dryer’s not working,
So fix it my darling.”
“The oven must be cleaned,
Or off supper we’ll be weaned.”

“The tap in the sink,
Has gone on the blink.”
“The garden needs turning,
Before that nap time you’re yearning.”

“The TV in the kitchen is blank.”
“The compost was left ’til it stank.”
“ The light in the hall is blown.”
“Now let out those pants you’ve outgrown.”

“The fireplace window is black,
Scrub it, it’s good for your back.
And take out those ashes,
Or there will be twenty more lashes.”

So that is the picture,
Of what looks like my future.
Until this crisis is ended,
My rights as a spouse are suspended.

It may be good for the soul,
As savings sink into a hole,
To know how to scour and mend,
But to flatten the curve?…
It’s driving me right around the bend!

The McPhersons are home from Canmore and are observing 14 days of full isolation as a precaution.