Mayor Rules Chocolatier "Essential Business" by Mark F. Stone Our craving for chocolate is serious. Deny us and we will be furious. Withholding confections could alter elections for mayors in ways deleterious. The I’m Angry Blues by James A. Tweedie I’m angry at the President. I’m angry at the press. I’m angry that I’m stuck at home, my social life’s a mess! I’m angry for those out of work who cannot pay their bills. I’m angry at The Virus and the fear that it instills. I’m angry at the Democrats, whose anger’s worse than mine. I’m angry at Republicans, and their collective whine. I’m angry that I have to worship God in cyber space. I’m angry that I’m forced to wear a mask across my face. I’m angry for the time that I’ve allowed to slip away I’m angry that I’m eating too much food at home each day I’m angry that my butt is super-glued into a chair In front of my computer screen, it all seems so unfair. I’m angry the economy has tanked, at least for now. I’m angry that I want to make things right, but don’t know how. I’m angry that my mother’s locked inside her room alone, And angry that the only way to see her is by phone. The Bible says at sunset I should let my anger go. I do, but in the morning, it wakes up and says, “Hello.” I’m angry that I’m angry, it’s not how I want to be. So angry I could spit, but that would not be safe, you see. I’m tired of being angry so I’ll go downstairs, instead, And take my anger out on dough, and bake a loaf of bread. And then compose a poem or perhaps create a song, And set my heart on something good instead of all that’s wrong. For anger is an attitude that I don’t have to choose. Instead, I’ll let some brighter colors chase away the blues. My anger won’t achieve a thing. Things are what they will be. The only thing that I can change, at least for now, is me. Villanelle for C-19 by Lloyd Jacobs As quarantine forbids the loving touch and death is loveless, its house unfit to live, and playful Cupid’s murdered with a scutch, isolate and sequester is life to botch. Celibacy is blessed, but joy it cannot give, and quarantine forbids the loving touch. God’s command to flourish thus to scotch with pestilential fear, the devil’s sieve, and playful Cupid’s murdered with a scutch. Rebel and love, kiss life, make bold a putsch of love licit and illicit, there’s naught to shrive and quarantine forbids the loving touch. Deeply intagliate our minds, love’s joy to teach. For grasping reckless joy, we pray, forgive, as playful Cupid’s murdered with a scutch. But ah, do I like it? No not much! Seditious and defiant, may each his wish receive tho quarantine forbids the loving touch, and playful Cupid’s murdered with a scutch.