Hoarding
It’s black every day,
war of the worlds within, when
the pandemic of hostile nature,
like a tornado warning,
pushes people into the southwest corner of the
survivalist basement where the TP,
canned beans, tuna fish and ready-to-eat
wisdom are stacked like
a cache of weapons against fear itself,
because a country sees its leader as ineffectual,
commercial anarchy ensues in America,
where nothing soothes more
than products, which sprout on shelves
like hydroponics designed as virus protection
against corrupting cells.
Tournaments cancelled, already lengthened
distances like elongated shadows,
stretch farther into neighboring seclude-sites.
Nature’s waves of green and brown,
constantly debunking – reassessing both the
casual and exponential risks, the mockery of
unimpeded audacity, of the belief in perfect,
in immunity, like scaling a faultless cliff
with hoarded words not hands.
The Author
Michel Steven Krug is a Minneapolis poet, fiction writer, former print journalist and Johns Hopkins Writing Seminars graduate and he litigates.
He’s also Managing Editor for Poets Reading the News (PRTN) literary magazine.
His poems have appeared in Sheepshead, Mizmor Anthology, 2019, PRTN, Ginosko, Door Is A Jar, Raven's Perch, Tuck Magazine, Poetry24, Main Street Rag, the Brooklyn Review and others.
