Since we are all living in an apocalyptic scenario right now–and all of Iowa is closed for business–this seems like it can’t help but spawn some wonderful writing. If you’ve written something COVID-19 inspired, whether by visions of global destruction or simply heaps of extra time stuck at home, share it in the comments below!
While the March 17 and April 2 meetings are cancelled due to public health emergency status, we are still planning to meet on Tuesday, April 21 at 6:00 pm in the Makerspace (room 17) of Musser Public Library.
In the meantime, you are also invited to participate in our Facebook community in order to continue sharing work, inspiration, and support.
Hang in there, everyone.
Writers on the Avenue 
A poem from Mike Bayles, WOTA member, titled “Dear Covid”:
Dear Covid,
How you turn light into shadows
I wonder
about lines drawn at the grocery store
the talk where you and social distance
are mentioned in one breath
of how a cough stirs fear
and neighbors wearing masks
can’t even look at each other
in aisles of a grocery store.
I wonder how the mention of you
makes the world stop
and children ordered to stay inside
how they cry,
that you are the conversation
a cold wind’s embrace
on a sunny day in spring.
You are a twisted line
in a love poem;
my friend’s restaurant is closed.
I sit alone in my car in a park and watch
restless waters as the river overflows.
Take out at restaurants and bars
leave me wanting for more
while the town crier and poets
say this is a sign
the world will end.
At a six-foot distance,
Davenport
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A poem from Dan Moore, WOTA member, titled “Exile in My Own Land”:
I’m an exile in my own land
Bound to my confines at others’ choosing.
I watch small bits of the world pass—
Dogs, walkers, bikers and cars—
All waiting for the all-clear.
Then I will bolt forth,
Take my spot in the line
To enjoy fresh air, sunshine, and a cigar.
All too soon I will return
To my bunker and endure the wait.
I will wait because there are lions out there
Who will eat me.
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A poem from WOTA member Terry Mowl:
Yesterday never occurred.
Lying is not a sin.
The truth is never conceived.
The world is dark and dim.
Bleak and drab within.
Sunshine filters through the smog.
Flowers are rarely perceived.
Trash pollutes the lakes and streams.
Children dirty, uneducated, and cold.
Elders dying without medicine has been foretold.
Suicide, death, and despair permeates the multitude.
Life becomes a painful, dark impending demise.
Ancient scholars foreboding rapture can’t be derived.
Perplexing as it implies destiny may apprehend the sky.
Survival will be a grateful compromise.
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