Poetry — August 21, 2020 11:50 — 0 Comments

The virus doesn’t care – Misha Berson

“Gravity is just a theory. You can go ahead and walk out a second-story window because gravity is a theory. The virus doesn’t care what you believe.” Dr. Tom Benzoni, quoted in The Des Moines Register, June 23, 2020


The virus doesn’t care.

The virus doesn’t care if you are wearing a green dress of vapors, or blue
shoes made of peanut brittle, or a crown of feathers.

The virus doesn’t care what your name is, or your address, or whether
you sleep on silk sheets or on the sidewalk.

It doesn’t care about what you want for your birthday, or if you hiked Mt.
Rainier or waded in the Nile, or voted.

The virus doesn’t care who you love, or how you love them, who you woo
or if you are loved back.

The virus doesn’t care about excuses or accusations. It doesn’t care if you
believe in it. It doesn’t care about spin or ideology, about your plans and
dreams, your nightmares or bank balance.

The virus doesn’t want to dance a tango with you. It can’t hear you. It has
no ears, no lips, no hands, no sex.

It is as neutral as the wind, as unjudgmental as mud, as opportunistic as a
wasp, as persistent as tides. It is not your lover, or your friend or even
your enemy.

Maybe it will miss you. But not because it loves you.


Misha Berson is a Seattle-based writer distinguished by her years writing for The Seattle Times as a theater critic.

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What am I?

Bioluminescent eye
That sees by the shine
Of its own light. Lies

Blind me. I am the seventh human sense
And my stepchild,

Scientists can't find me.

Januswise I make us men;
Was my image then—

Remind me:

The awful fall up off all fours
From the forest
To the hours…

Tick, Tock: Divine me.

-- Richard Kenney