Ode to Covid

The year was nineteen-eighty-three, when I first learned of HIV, the twisted, vicious sickness thick, afflicting gays initially. T'was later that I learned the fact, that gays alone were not attacked, then more confusion, no conclusion, monkeys, needles, blood transfusion. The world said now it is a must, we'll find a way and we'll adjust, some drastic tactics, prophylactics, curb your urges, purge your lust. They told us when we dropped our pants, to tango that forbidden dance, there'd be a pretty decent chance, that in that carnal circumstance, that we'd be sharing so much more, than just the happy final score; we'd be with all who'd played before; a fact that most could not ignore. The news was bad and brought the pain, that if we wanted to remain, the safest bet was to abstain; was I to never score again? And condom-shoppers flipped their lids, no longer shamed as horny kids, night, noon, and morn, no porn-like scorn, just proud Bros Pro Quo seeking Quids. The ad campaigns were hella Greek, Are you a Trojan or a Sheik? Whichever- chill- you're not a freak, your dream's gone mainstream- no critique. Did using rubbers make it stop? Did spreading totals even drop? That news is old, the trail is cold, a new thing's risen to the top. It's not just bad- it might be worse, invasion of an Asian curse? It matters not- just call a nurse, it's passed so fast it is perverse. The onus is on us again, it's all our fault, yes that's the spin, so strap this apparatus thin, onto your gross, infected chin, it's not your private parts this time, that spew the goo and do the crime, the germ's not in your sperm enzyme, it's spit so quit this paradigm. -?2020Mellon