contrite: FOWC with Fandango

Oh, so guilty

Contrite is what you call me 
and maybe you are right 
I’m not a hidden angel 
I don’t stay up all night. 
Please do not remind me 
of all the things I’ve done,
or things that I have said before,
or games that I have won. 
I hate to think that I’ve made 
mistakes along the way 
So here I sit so guilty 
It takes up most my day.

©2020 CBialczak Poetry

Written for Fandango’s FOWC:

Engine: FOWC with Fandango

Written for Fandango:

Virus, Isolation, Politics

If there was an engine that really, really could 
wouldn’t there be people driving behind it’s hood? 
For now, there are no people, no passengers or guests 
The virus has us locked up, like eggs inside a nest.  
When we think of hatching we all will want to run 
Seeing the world in sickness isn’t, for anybody, fun.  
Children want to play outside or in the village square 
While parents worry if they’ll get the virus in the air. 
We have to be so careful to not get sick and die 
Donald Trump is awful with nothing to do but lie.  

©2020 CBialczak Poetry