To be, or not to be, that is the question:

Whether ’tis nobler in this time to suffer

The pings and harrows of outrageous Zoom calls,

Carol, mute thyself! And thy hair unwash’d

A mullet somehow grown. To touch one’s face

No more; and every week just does not end

The heart-ache and thousand unnatural shocks

Of realizing it’s Wednésday once more

Friday be wish’d. Twenty seconds to wash;

“Happy Birthday” to sing—ay, there’s the scrub!

When on the Zoom call heard an errant flush,

Have I changéd my underwear today?

Should I put on some pants—there’s the respect

That makes calamity of waistlines grown.

For now I fear ev’ry cough, sniff, and sneeze,

The stuffy nose, the tickle of the throat,

Is’t COVID-19 come, or allergies?

I’ve eaten now four cans soup microwav’d

And a pizza unearth’d from the freezer.

I prob’ly should buy some Clorox or show’r

Mayhaps do my laundry? Or brush my teeth,

But so much Netflix yet remains unwatch’d,

The dread of missing out on “Tiger King,”

Is that a bedsore, or a funky rash?

Sweatpants shall I don, and Purell carry,

And for provisions outward I shall march

Am I out of breath? I should have worked out

But coronavirus comes untimely,

To fit a mask o’er my rough beard unshav’n

Sicklied are those not social distancing,

For hydroxychloroquine they have shop’d

Nary a regard in public unmask’d

Thine quarantine infraction.