A class on Zoom, as you’d assume,
Attracts its
share of crazies,
But in your
room, no need to fume;
Just
rearrange your daisies
Or fill a
grid your camera hid,
Completing Sunday’s
puzzle,
If the
teacher did not place a lid
On some who
need a muzzle.
With mic
sound shut, if every nut
Must jabber
with a story,
You tune
out, but, your tsk and tut
Won’t dampen
someone’s glory.
The time
will pass and soon your class
Will come to
its conclusion
And then, en
masse, you leave; the brass
Believing
the illusion.
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