Is there curbside at Scarborough Fair?
Parsley, sage, chocolate ice cream and wine
There’s nothing to eat, our kitchen is bare
Instacart won’t deliver til midnight July 9
Tell me, can I order paper towels and Purell
Parsley, sage, gummi bears and wine
Shopping in stores is nothing short of pure hell
I’ll only go in if there isn’t a line


Hello darkness, my new friend
I’m up at 3 a.m. again
Because a vision of mask-less masses
Ignoring stay-at-home and being total asses
Left an imprint on my brain
This is insane
I struggle to explain
I’m silent


When you’re bleary, feeling small
When tears are in your eyes, I will watch you dry them all
Because socially distant, we are crying on a Zoom call
Like a fridge full of bottled water 
I’m cold and in lockdown
Like a fridge full of bottled water 
I will be around
When you’re down and out
Not on your feet
The damn stimulus check never came
And you’re out on the street, ohhh
Just send me a text
A sad emoji will do
And I will comfort you
Like a fridge full of bottled water 
I’m sadly housebound
Like a fridge full of bottled water 
I will be around


You’re breaking my heart
Can 2020 restart?
You’re making me fall apart daily
Oh memorabilia,
Ticket stubs from Broadway shows,
My never worn new spring clothes,
Oh oh oh! 


A winter’s day
A day we all remember
I was alone,
Gazing from my window to the streets below, 
Now it’s summer and still I’m lying low
I’m on lockdown
I am an island
I’ve built a home office
Its walls are thin and flimsy
I go to work in my sweats
Smoke a pack of cigarettes
And still this seems like whimsy
I’m on lockdown
I am an island


And here’s to you, Mrs. Robinson
Mama thanks you more than you will know
Whoa, whoa, whoa
God bless you, please, Mrs. Robinson
Your third-grade students have to Zoom all day
Including my son Clay
Heh, heh, heh
Heh, heh, heh
I’d like to know a little bit about your state of mind
I’d like to tell you how I’m freaking out
Please don’t judge me for being incoherent
I usually am a fairly reasonable parent
Thank God for remote learning, Mrs. Robinson
The break I get is sweeter than you know
Whoa, whoa, whoa
I bow to you, Mrs. Robinson
My house is in disarray
Where’s my glass of Cabernet?
Hey, hey, hey
Hey, hey, hey


I’d rather have more marshmallows than kale
Yes I would, if I could, I surely would
I searched for chocolate Dove Bars to no avail
Yes I did, I really did, I surely did
Today, I’d rather munch on junk
I’m a healthy eater who’s in a funk
When my favorite snacks aren’t found
I give ShopRite my saddest sound
My saddest sound
I’d rather have Cool Ranch Doritos for a treat
Yes I would, if I could, I surely would
I’d rather have a Mars bar than a beet
Yes I would, if I could, I surely would


“The problem is all inside your head,” she said to me
“The answer is easy if you listen to Fauci
He’s got our backs on this, I guarantee
There must be fifty ways we can recover.”
She said, “It’s really not my habit to be lewd
But I think we’re truly getting screwed
So I’ll repeat myself at the highest amplitude
Fauci’s got fifty ways we can recover
Fifty ways we can recover
Just ignore the quack, Jack
Fauci’s the man, Stan
The real McCoy, Roy
Just listen to me
Don’t make a fuss, Gus
You don’t need to distrust much
Turn on MSNBC, Lee
And get yourself free.”



Helene Cohen Bludman is a freelance writer, book reviewer, and extreme baker. Whoever said laughter is the best medicine was right.