Borderline hypochondria in lockdown—a poem

Do you have borderline hypochondria in lockdown?

One half thinks her throat is hot
and breeding mould.
She knows she’s got
a dubious deadly cold.
Her other half knows
that she has not—
but even so
she will not go
to that wedding funeral or protest
unless her hot-head half agrees
she’s got a hearty hefty body
with not a single tingle
bold and ready
to breathe and mingle
with the non-hot
the majority, the healthy.

Just a bit of nonsense. But it’s a thing, isn’t it, this super-sensitive borderline hypochondria in lockdown? And a good thing too.