Still some citizens dine at their spots, While other workers, by dollar’s pots And land scribers ordinances lest we forgot Tempest long ago tossed. Give me your sick, your dying, your queer, Our hair still waves freely, uncovered our ear, The buildings and stores all seem to keep clear Liquid on hand to appease. Masses still cook traba and limpia, Our economy hangs on still no one do say, How long the masks must be worn on our fray To keep doctors relaxing at home. Taxis haul people and covered cargo, A final destination that no one do know, As postal corporations keep us all going slow So no one becomes too afraid. A fine day at the beach is had by us all. President’s rhetoric impales by the pall. Parks and museums still not quite fall. The highways, some close, a momentary mall. Online commerce, hardly a crawl. We stay between sheets between the four walls Of homes some believe keep them safe.