DEAR 2020

Dear 2020,
What made you awful isn’t over yet. Here in the United States, until a new President is sworn in, the Reign of Error continues unabated.  The sycophants suggesting Martial Law cannot even spell it. Pardons are being handed out like kisses at the world’s most expensive kissing booth – and this kiss comes with a lick of plague.  Over fifty countries still ban incoming U. S. travelers, and you know, given how irresponsible my fellow citizens have acted throughout the length of your reign, 2020, who can blame them? 

2020, you have blurred the line between natural disaster and man-made disaster. Humankind has suffered plagues before, has suffered floods and famines and fires before, suffered earthquakes and hurricanes before, just not everywhere and all at once.  It’s like we were saddled up and tied like kids on a maniacal pony ride where uniformed personnel are ordered to pick out dark riders, set them on fire and shoot their pony.  Is a plague of locusts a natural disaster or did we flush them out, like Wuhan bats? Are wildfires in the hundreds a natural disaster or did the West Coast move the water too far towards the cities? Even now, the future is not clear, and hindsight is not 20/20.

2020, you were a locomotive, truly loco, at top speed, heedless and careless.  Every person, every place, every thing was standing in harm’s way.  All the king’s horses and all the king’s men marched in circles, firing shots at protestors and shouting curses instead of giving life-saving shots to doctors and nurses.

2020, your toxic nature lingers, even and unto the day we take back the White House from Humpty Dumpty and we free all the king’s horses and arrest all the king’s men.  Those of us who worked hard and paid our taxes and wrote checks to Democratic challengers, we will tear down the wall that Humpty Dumpty sat upon, scrape up the shells, the whites and the yolks and compost the mess.

Published by Ms. C. G. Tripp

Catherine G. Tripp, Writer/Investor a lifelong mix. Left brain and right brain battle for dominance. I wrote the marketing materials for my mortgage brokerage, had a personal finance column at, wrote essays, short stories and poems published in school papers and magazines then literary journals. If my writings were a color, they would be yellow, bright as sunlight, highlighting the salient portions, not obscuring the past but deconstructing air brushed stories, finding humor and courage in the unloved corners.

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