top of page
  • Writer's pictureLauren Meir

Contagious

COVID is like the abusive boyfriend

you've caught

through every fault of your own,

because you carelessly left the door open

like an invitation. And in he flew -

broke, red-faced, all brass and bravado

promising rest and isolation

your own medically-mandated staycaytion

away from the unforgiving world.


But now he’s there, everywhere.

Squatting in the empty space of your life,

sitting on your chest at night

till you can’t breathe, every inhale

tiny shards of glass he's left like broken

test tube vials in the bed.

He's loud,

makes obscene gestures,

offends your aunts and uncles,

makes small children cry.


Hoarder, he's toxic to overflowing

with both fluids and words.

And with each mutation

his ego grows, ballooning

more insidious, jabbing skillfully

at the grotesque human need

you’ve now become:


All snot and tears,

pain living in your chest

like a hammer, his touch

ringing through your joints

like a delirious fever dream.

His voice bangs

incessant percussion behind your eye bones,

a spiked hangover that won’t quit.


Codeine coats your throat

in a syrupy sweetness you can’t taste

curdling like the plans you’ve made and canceled

because he’s attached himself to every ruined cell

you hold.

Your body isn’t yours anymore.

It’s his.


Addict, he’ll pawn your six feet of social distance

for a bottle of horse dewormer

that he’ll dilute with bleach. Drink up, sweetie

he’ll croon as he hands you vitamin c.

In the same breath,

He’ll ask you

if you’ve thought about what death

feels like, the silent dark

closing around your heart like a fist.


Baby, he's got you walled in.

He’ll keep you like a relic

between the two lines of a test

you’ve already failed,

kissing you wetly, in triplicate;

a crooked smile

hooked behind the ears like a mask.


At some point he'll leave you like he found you,

weak and emptied of all misgivings

and ever so sorry

for glancing over,

for inviting him in

to burrow deeply inside each cell

until you can’t remember the before.


But your body will remember.

Your immunity is as high

as your spirit,

floating above your healed hope

like a tenuous balloon.


0 views

Recent Posts

See All

Comments


bottom of page