Poet’s Corner

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Quarantine November
By Beth Parker

Tension headache,
nervous gut, plus scratchy throat
brought on by furnace heat and
nighttime mouth-breathing
all adds up to feeling crappy enough
to suspect the dread contagion,
which fear only tightens the vise-grip
on shoulders and neck.
Do I feel hot to you?
The thermometer says 107°.
That can’t be right.
But I am warm.
Possibly that just means
I’m alive. May as well seize the day,
says the dog, look here, this clump of grass
has recently been visited by another dog.
Life is a glorious pile of rot.
Let’s roll in it.

Beth Parker is a painter, landscaper, and occasional poet, when there’s time in between paintings. She lives in Chilmark.

Poets with a connection to Martha’s Vineyard are encouraged to submit poems to Laura Roosevelt at ldroosevelt@gmail.com.