Poem: Transitioning

The Spring is here
Pandemic too
My eyes are brown
Not green, not blue

Facial recognition
In the mirror
Shave the morning stubble
So all the ladies can leer

My jokes are smelly
Stanking to the the high skies
Polluting the troposphere
What I’m selling, no one buys

Cabin fever comes at later stages
And who knows what else
We’re learning to roll with the punches
Tick tock to the chiming bells

My toes are sore from indoor running
My face is rouging from patio sunning
My humour meter is over-cunning
My sloppy wet kiss on hold yet still stunning

What the f* will the world look like
After weeks and months of transition?
From the wet markets to the stock markets
Our mission is to beat the mortician

Wait it out, take action where you can
Learn who you really are, truly understand
What’s mission critical and what is fluff
Transitioning can eventually be fruitful though oh so very tough

~ Gunnar Våken