by Marc Darnell
Wash your hands again-- Covid might survive these seven times you’ve scrubbed your nails in fifteen minutes. You haven’t done it right, so wait till night, see how your body feels-- if you show fever, take your temp five times, no-- six, perhaps thermometers are wrong. Scour the sink for smart, demonic germs that want to crawl into your bed and sting you till you’ve chilled but all the sheets are wet, and god, you have to call in sick to work-- you had such good attendance, now you’ll sit at home two weeks, your memory will blur of what you haven’t cleaned, you crave to kill that thing that slipped into your veins and rills.
Marc Darnell is a custodian and online tutor in Omaha NE, and has also been a phlebotomist, hotel supervisor, busboy, editorial assistant, farmhand, devout recluse, and incurable brooder. He received his MFA from the University of Iowa, and has published poems in The Lyric, Rue Scribe, Verse, Skidrow Penthouse, Shot Glass Journal, The HyperTexts, Candelabrum, The Road Not Taken, Aries, Ship of Fools, Open Minds Quarterly, The Fib Review, Verse-Virtual, Blue Unicorn, Ragazine, The Literary Nest, The Pangolin Review, and elsewhere.