The black felt tip of
fear has made its mark on each city across the globe. “Pandemic,” they say to uninsured and unemployed. Locked away in their compartmentalized zones of being. Unable to escape, they sing from their balconies to glimpse freedom. Cancelled everything. There’s nothing pleasing the mob. Wash our hands, cover our breath, stop this pathogen. Now, this is our new pastime. Fill it up to the brim of that cart, Betty Lou. I can’t wipe my ass with fake news or my bare hand. Me first, your conditions be damned. |
Jonathon Bridge is currently finishing up his degree in English Literature with a minor in Creative Writing. After graduation he plans to continue his writing and making his grandma proud.
|