(with apologies to Robert Louis Stevenson)
Oh, how I’d like to go out in the car,
out to buy milk and bread.
Our corner market is not very far . . .
still I am filled with dread!
Up every aisle and jammed wall to wall
lurk folks with their dripping snouts.
Touching and coughing and A-choo-ing all
over the Brussels sprouts.
When will I look at blueberries again?
Look at a quince once more?
Not ’til the CDC gives its amen.
Then I’m off to the grocery store.