Sick Jokes? Third Sunday Write Tackles a Hoped for Ending

It was Bloomington Writers Guild “3rd Sunday Write” time again (cf. March 12, January 30, et al.), with the prompts coming actually one day early, on March 19. So here I am less than two weeks late — but more than a month! And missing April Fool’s day by a day too, on April 2. At least that’s when I wrote it, but posting it a hair after midnight too, for — officially — Sunday, April 3.

Thus, with three topics, the first was to write about the weather and the third, with a poem attached, was to comment on that. So I chose the second, thus:

2. This is how the pandemic ends. . . .

Of course half the country didn’t believe in the pandemic anyway. That is, for them it never began — just a thing for Pres. Trump to say silly things about, turning, contradicting his own thoughts — but if never beginning, then now could it end? They got exercise though, indulging in fistfights with people who wore masks. Marching in parades, signs proclaiming: “Lemmings for Liberty!” I remember, that first summer being hot, how strange it seemed that I never saw any of them not wearing pants, which would be even more comfortable than just having one’s chin bare. And if not wearing cloth was necessary to demonstrate one’s love for freedom. . . .

Well, love is fickle, and so I imagine disease must be also. But some in the meantime got vaccinations — even the puzzled one called the Trumpster — and some of the others who didn’t died. Taking their Lemminghood literally, I suppose. Though by then some of us didn’t truly believe in them either.

So with bangs? Whimpers? Or maybe the problem is it isn’t ending.