Lisa and I got our emails the same day.
She read hers first. She made a small
sighing sound, the faintest of protests.
Then broke the news, with a scowl,
"They're moving classes online "temporarily."
I don't want to talk about Corona any more
- I want to scream about it. Maybe we'll
graduate, in three years, without knowing
what most of our classmates look like -
antithetical to "networking" at university.
I'm lucky, I know - I'm only inconvenienced.
I roam, safely, indoors, impatiently untouched by
adult, real world concerns, like jobs and money.
So I'll keep my head up and smile like those
glamorous, happy girls in tampon commercials.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem