In its Easter bonnet
with all the thorns upon it
So spreads the great malady,
some say it’s man-made.
We’re not allowed much closer
gloved hands and masks all over
To keep the protest shallow
there’s no Easter parade.
On the avenues, all the avenues
the police will stop and snatch us.
And you’ll find that you are
in quarantine and without your car.
Oh, to write a sonnet
about corona’s bonnet
in a hospital awaking
where no tests can be made.