Coronostalgia
Poem by Melissa Balmain
The dream where I’m taking a midterm
for a class that, I realize with fright,
I can’t name or recall having been to at all?
I’d be tickled to dream it tonight.
The one where I’m topless in public—
or, more often than not, naked-assed—
and encounter my boss? What a terrible loss
that this dream is a thing of the past.
Hey—even the one where I’m driving,
though I’m half in the rear middle seat,
and I notice (say what?) that my eyes are glued shut,
has become an impossible treat.
Instead, I keep having a nightmare
my poor nerves can no longer withstand,
one that loops without end: I wave hi to a friend
who runs up and starts shaking my hand. ◊
MELISSA BALMAIN is the Editor of Light, a journal of light verse. Her collection Walking in on People is often mistaken by online shoppers for some kind of porn.
