Little Covie (may I call you that?)
doing what you’ve done since
the beginning — begetting and begetting
in biblical proportion, as though
there were no tomorrow, surviving
as we wear you to the mall.

I call Aminah, a refugee, to ask has she all
urgent instructions in Arabic? “This virus
is everywhere, in every language!”
She is aghast that I don’t see
and rushes off to What’s App
Mom and Dad in Baghdad.

I call Bee Koh in Kota Kinabalu
on the birthday we invented
when her village had no records.
“We are safe” she assures “soldiers
patrolling streets because our people
are not obedient.”

Not obedient we Canadians,
why just the other night a homeless
man broke a window and climbed
inside a hostel. Wouldn’t you?

Covie, there is truth
in you that we are not accustomed to.
The emperor is naked,
the turtle outpaces us, Rapunzel lowers
her long blonde hair from the turret

but who remembers how to climb
up out of here, who knows how
to save us from ourselves?