I am certain Covid broke us.
Slid right in and commandeered
The anterior insular cortex,
Rendering it feckless.

The insidious vapors of virus,
Crept through grey pattern,
like fissures in Britain's fine china, 
weakening vessels.

It challenged stoic cake-baking, 
cheek-pinching Grandmothers 
now weary, brittle like breath,
Mugged and stole delinquent affection.

Their confections and convictions
Dried up, gone to seed.
Their ovens long  gone cold
Like their parting, parched mouths.

It rankled outliers rowdy with
drink, now shooting before sighting,
Shooting mouths,
Shooting hearts, shooting voices.

Explosive, shrapnel-laden fury envelops,
The hand that shoves the traveler,
The hand that slaps the lover.
The hand that pulls the trigger.

What do we lack, for nothing?
Our coffers depleted,
Our mouth's drier still
Without the stale Body of Christ.

Our god. 
Our selves.
Our salvation.

dVerse Open Link Night

9 thoughts on “Host

  1. Powerful write! I am especially enamored of these words: “like fissures in Britain’s fine china, ” Just a superb image that expresses your observations here.


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