Volume 31, Number 3

National Illness

The quarantine started when we elected
the reality-show president. Not that I did it,
but we did. At that point, the world had to
know, we were a sick, sick country.

They took our temperature, checked our
erratic behavior, and put us back to bed.
We threw their chicken soup at them
when they put it on the bedside table.
We peed in the closet. It became obvious
early on that we had lost total control
of our faculties.

After a few attempts, they locked our door
from the outside and put up a sign that said
“America is sick. Try again later.”
We locked the door from the inside,
ever certain we were the ones in control.

The four-year fever rages on, and a slight
majority of us are worried about the possibility
of reinfection.

—Bill Abbott