Alarm clock rings and Mama groans.
Lil Llama’s still learning from home.

Mornings fill Mama with crushing dread
as Llama whines, “My Chromebook’s dead!”

“Find the charger, plug it in!
Virtual school will soon begin!”

Mama takes a seat beside Lil Llama,
hoping to lessen online learning trauma.

Thirty minutes wasted taking attendance
may explain Mama’s growing wine dependence.

Computer screen is frozen and WiFi’s glitching.
Mama’s left eye starts new, mysterious twitching.

Teacher’s mic cuts in and out.
Little Llama starts to pout.

“I wanna play Fortnite now!” Llama cries.
Mama dreams about eating her weight in fries.

“Sweet little Llama, please pay attention!”
Mama’s chest constricts from hypertension.

Teacher outlines today’s lesson.
Mama slips into deep depression.

“First, you’ll recreate the Louvre with dried spaghetti.
Then, you’ll write a dozen haikus about a yeti.”

Harried Mama sighs and rolls her eyes,
then listens as another parent cries.

It’s been ten months without a break.
How much more can this Mama take?

Already late for her own Zoom meeting,
Mama gobbles Pop Tarts, mmm… stress eating.

Llama’s pals pick their noses and interrupt.
Mama braces for frazzled teacher to erupt.

At the kitchen table, Mama finally starts her work,
ignores Llama, still in pajamas, attempting to twerk.

Teacher tries to explain subtraction,
Llama’s antics are gaining traction.

“Who needs a five-minute recess?” exhausted teacher asks.
Mama pictures the instructor guzzling from a flask.

Llama darts off to build a Lego tower
while Mama sneaks away to take a shower.

Under the cleansing spray, Mama catches her breath.
Time alone’s more pure than Walter White’s meth.

But poor Mama isn’t on her own at all.
Llama and his laptop lurk in the hall.

Llama’s classmates dissolve into giggle fits
as camera pans to Mama’s lady bits.

“Out!” roars Mama, grabbing towel
while Llama’s peers shriek, hoot, and howl.

The day proceeds in a downward spiral
as screenshots of nude Mama go viral.

By 2 PM Lil Llama’s feral.
Mama’s career’s in major peril.

Counting down the minutes until bedtime,
Mama deems remote learning a grievous crime.

“Sorry, Mama, you know I’m trying.”
Each day ends with the Llamas crying.

“And I’m sorry that there’s no other choice,”
Mama says in her bravest voice.

Pour one glass of pinot, then another
COVID’s destroying this weary mother.

Mama drinks away her ever-present sorrow,
knowing that she’ll face it all again tomorrow.