With apologies to William Ernest Henley
Behind the mask that covers me
As I wander from store to store,
I mutter a curse to the gods that be
For this panicky pandemic bore.
In the fell clutch of quarantine
I’ve winced and whined and moaned.
Stuffed my face with fattening cuisine
And spent my days and nights dead-stoned.
In the paper towel aisle,
An empty shelf stretches forth.
Looks like it’s going to be a while
Before the Bounty comes to port.
I can’t go see the Rolling Stones
Or watch the Braves on Fox Sports South.
Nothing but Twitter on the ol’ iPhone
Where you-know-who is running his mouth.