Social Distancing

. . . is the worthy buzz wordiness of the day, 

But people are already too isolated, 

Too "into" themselves, 

Too enisled in cushy, sedentary clefts, 

Inverted croquembouches, 

Too easily riled by interruptions, 

Not at all accustomed to interdependence--

I wipe your fanny, you wipe mine. 

Knee jerks most of them, who 

Are rapid to condemn, 

Whine about inconvenience, 

Post guards at the gates, 

Vilify their neighbors, 

Shed teardrops for the Dow, 

Would never touch a stranger 

Under any circumstances, anyhow. 

At home among the hoarded rolls 

Of toilet paper, jugs of souring milk, 

Crates of rotting fruit, bags 

Of waist-exploding salty treats,

They flop and moan and defecate, 

Guzzle billions of video gallons from 

The gushing, onrushing Internet streams. 

Motionless, safe in this paradise 

Of risk-free blanditude, 

So happy now, why should they ever

Stir again?