A Tanka Set, Two Hundred and Tenth Entry, Coronavirus Poetry Diary
a flood of memories
from the black hole of the past...
three white kids
ride their bikes by me
yelling 'SARS, SARS '
four years of Trump
and four seasons of Covid...
I take sleeping pills
and curl into a race-blind dream,
the fifth corner of my world
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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