“Many families are now grappling with whether, when and how to open their pandemic-quarantine bubbles to additional people.”—Wall Street Journal
(Sorry, Christopher Marlowe)
Come live with me inside my bubble:
Our cozy and exclusive club’ll
Share real—not Zoomed or FaceTimed!—meals,
Plus, if the ease of it appeals,
We’ll work around supply-chain glitches
By pooling all our greatest riches:
My yeast can now be yours as well,
My Charmin, Clorox and Purell.
And we’ll take walks, no longer shouting
The way we had to when each outing
Meant trying for a heart-to-heart
While eardrums struggled yards apart.
And I’ll divide my sourdough starter,
And you will generously barter
Your sewing skills. (I’d love a cute
New mask and tailored hazmat suit.)
It just makes sense that we should weather
This crisis (cautiously) together!
Now free at last to hug hello,
We’ll meet each day for morning Joe;
We’ll gossip while our kids are playing;
I’ll paint your nails… What’s that you’re saying?
A nail salon? You went at 3?
Stay the fuck away from me. ◊