I had to think today of that poem by John Donne, “No Man is an Island.”  It came to me in the middle of some tense family moments. It was quarantine o’clock and, as usual,  my wife and I were being the worst parents ever.

Then, quite out of nothing, the poem popped into my head and I was taken back to my memory of those solemn lines. I said them loudly to inject a little absurdity into the family din.

No man is an island,
Entire of itself,Every man is a piece of…