Ode to Andy Beshear

Pandemic Poetry

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Never mind the wing nuts, the open carry crowd,
the zombie horde smearing their lips upon the glass,
stand your ground, Mr. Beshear.

In other states, other governors may be willing
to reopen their beaches, to send constituents like lambs
to slaughterhouses disguised as theme parks,

but in the Bluegrass State, we can’t be doing that.
The sun shines bright, and Kentuckians stay in their homes,
flattening the curve to live another livelong day,

Mr. Beshear, thank you for being the adult in the room,
for unplugging the jukebox and sending the kids
packing up their solo cups and Coronas,

Mr. Beshear, it’s clear you are a leader who cares,
sleeves rolled up to elbows, collars open-throated,
trying to be the oak that survives the storm,

while your neighbors set out lawn chairs
and light sparklers, watching the clouds darken
like it’s all on a television in someone else’s house.


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