The President has Covid, and other destablizing events

I held out for a few months but I finally gained a few

stomach pudging out in the mirror

hanging over gross old panties

face all red and acnied, too; something something about a mask

too tired and too lazy to buy benzoyl peroxide

which Cosmo said would work

even lazier to do anything at all,

instead lounging in a too-tight pink robe, blowing harsh joint smoke out the window

avoiding promises to quit                                    I could not possibly be sincere

if one’s body is their home

and that home represents all things internal

then consider me screwed                                   although that I would prefer

if one’s home is their home, things are still not looking up;

dishes from too long ago, a new rug forming

from a dress I shouldn’t have splurged on

in this economy?                                                            a voice whispers from within

dozens of cardigans, scarves, too;

if one’s nation is their home, ay caramba.

I’m only half-certain I’m allowed to say that

mostly certain I’ll have to tell you now

my father es de La Parguera                               so leave me and my Spanish words alone.

I used to take more poetic liberties with things like “hope”

imagined justice poses                                         torch up like Lady Liberty

small village comforts

reflections of the past                                            women as center

little kids as refugees                                             the folds of my dress as a new homeland

let me know if you can find the twinkling life within

or a new, worthwhile community myth

but I’m half-ready to bunker down

let some man with a gun fight the other men with guns for me

don’t get me started on the planet as a home,

the galaxy, or bigger

who can imagine all that flawed potential

who can keep from closing inward