One year hence, and
Is it Stockholmish to say
I rather like my world contracted
Office in the back, entertainment out front
Strangers only on video screens, in the news
My garden, my birds, my pets, my spouse, all here
Available 24/7 yet just as easily withdrawn from when
The nagging, if gentle, drone of anxiety reaches a crescendo
I should be happy at the needle slid into my arm, jubilant even
But when I think of the world, the work, that waits outside my home
The terror I feel is not from any plague, nor from any politics or politicians

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