The speaker is a librarian, and the poem begins by describing how patrons see the job: as a kind of magic. Ask for help and the computer works, the bug stops, the book turns up where you were sure it wasn't. Then the poem shifts. Patrons keep asking about coronavirus disease 2019, and the speaker steps back to say that this isn't really about the virus at all. It's about the person who has to keep casting the "spell."
At home, the speaker is worn out, pulling at their hair and carrying all the stress of being everyone's solution. Roommates can't really understand, since they aren't librarians. The ending is the most painful part. Alone at the mirror, the speaker repeats the patrons' own request, "Can you help me?", then switches to a plea: "Fix me." The mood moves from light and playful to lonely and raw. The helper needs help, and there's no one there to give it.