Look! From opposite directions,
wearing masks to thwart infections,
two athletic pairs of spouses
march past neo-Tudor houses.
Sneakers pound and pulses quicken:
it’s a game of COVID-chicken!
Who will keep on striding forward,
chin and eyeballs firmly lowered?
Who will scurry six feet over
to the dog-doo-studded clover,
fearful that they’ll later sicken
thanks to playing COVID-chicken?
Every day the teams assemble.
Every day their innards tremble
like the innards of scared rabbits,
but they keep their walking habits:
in a world that’s stalled and stricken
there’s no sport but COVID-chicken. ◊