Sing in me, O Muse
but stay six feet away
I ask that you wear your mask,
Calliope, as you strum your lyre,
or whatever it is you do
Can you drop an epic beat?
No, stop, sorry, plucking’s not essential
Goodbye from the business
Better luck next time (that’s all it is)
You and your son, out on the street
Stay with your sister—not Thalia, she’s laid off too
Room with Melpomene, who could use the company
She’ll never be fired

What to do now?
Binge The Wire? Tiger King?
That Carole Baskin’s a bitch
File unemployment benefits, due
as soon as Mitch McConnell decides it benefits
Meanwhile, binge Baskin and Dunkin’, go nuts
Do they deliver? No, but deliverance needed
“He has no mask, stay away”
Since when was Fauci getting donuts?
I thought he was on Stephen Colbert,
not buying snacks, but saving the world
while still pleasing his naked emperor,
the one with a pathology
Wait, sorry, got off track
back to mythology

Orpheus missed graduation
It isn’t fair
Stuck with mom, mourning the loss,
gradually going insane, hair growing to the ground
No prom kiss with Eurydice,
just staring at those Brady Bunch squares
Why can’t lyres make antibodies?
We could zoom down to Hades, recover lost souls—not just lovers:
grocers, nurses, Amazon drivers
He died for my Xbox delivery
I ordered it Prime, and because of him,
it arrived on time
Is his death my fault?
No, it can’t be—my lawn has a sign
We ? our essential workers

Sorry Calliope, you won’t get paid
You tried, but it’s too late
no more aid
That’s unjust, I suggest a rally
You design the sign, she’ll create the date, he’ll tweet the street, I’ll—
Damn...this is hard
Oh well, next time

By now, all your sisters are laid off (except for Melpomene)
Who has use for Muses when the world is burning?
No more astronomy or dance or comedy, for a long time probably
Even Hercules is done with labors
Is there a chance of normal returning?
Maybe—ask Sybil for a prophecy
I need to buy more toilet paper