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Poetry of Issue #8        Page 6


After we’ve stomached our five minute fill
of news about the raging pandemic,
we turn on the classical station, sick
of hearing about this plague that has spilled

over everything to upset our lives.
We know what symptoms should worry us most,
the ones that mean we’re little more than toast.
So no need to hear more about the knives

of disease, or the lies of the Orange Putz,
who declares everything will be just fine
if we send the market soaring and don’t whine,
because he knows, down in his genius-guts

no one who believes in him has to fret.
Still, it’s on music’s charms we’ll place our bet.

  Robert Cooperman