The two of us are in our house
My wife and I, me and my spouse
The dawns and dusks are so romantic
But the mood is much too frantic
We stay apart; we can’t come near
Until the virus disappears.

We are mature; we are not callow
There are instructions we must follow
We ordered masks from Israel
To walk the streets of Sunnyvale
We social distance as we hike
We do not want the graph to spike.

We check our Covid every day
We drink a mix of greens and hay
‘It tastes like bile,’ I used to say
She’d hand it to me anyway
‘But I cannot get used to Kale; it’s absolutely terrible!’
‘If you can taste it – you are well.’

By now, there is a better test
It’s based on smell – it is the best
It is the smell of baking bread
I can chew it without dread
‘How come we didn’t think of this before?’
‘Look at the scale, you’ll ask no more.’

The scale presents objective measures
It holds its ground when under pressure
The scale keeps track of every slice
It’s digital, and it’s precise
I have put on a curve of lard
to flatten it will be quite hard.

There is a pool across the fence
at our daughter’s residence.
‘It has no heater; it is cold; 
I’m not that bold; I’m much too old.’
I sway in prayer, but alas –
Our Lord, don’t do the same trick twice.

It’s no surprise that I can float
I have had two months to bloat
I pull and kick and breathe and all
I hope to make it to the wall 
Yet when I get there, I feel strong
Thank God the pool is only eight yards long.