On the (not so) Merry-Go-Round
Dawn’s wake-up call a constant replay
caught on a carousel, a March hare
carnival, a nightmare because there’s
no safety out there.
Longing for days before a new normal
ripped memory, slashed from olden days
of childhood, turned a sunny life into
a three-ring scramble for $ with roaming
unmasked unbelievers flinging viral
To catch a fresh breath like a brass ring
inhaled from the (not so) merry-go-air
spinning cotton candy dreams as lungs
and hearts and kidneys ride all the pretty
horses up and down.