Here’s a poem from last March, the first one I’d written in a few years. It was pretty spontaneous. The last line was what I started with, before shoveling a bunch of dirt on top. 🙂
A Pandemic Poem
Lonely commutes down empty streets,
offices bigger than mine vacant for months,
recycled air swirling in the empty space
around dying potted plants,
every door locked behind a keypad,
with a code I never get right the first time.
I wait while others celebrate the jab,
sitting outside a bar counting capacity,
thirsty for a beer under neon glow,
wanting people around while wanting to be left alone;
I just know I liked when touch was an option,
to exist knowing life is near
like a dying potted plant.
Eyes over masks watching,
lips like horses at the gate pursing,
ready to condemn,
seek and scold;
Is this six feet?
I’m bad with distance;
following marks on the floor
like an actor onstage
in a tragedy of the commons.
If the eyes are squinting,
they are either laughing or crying,
neither appropriate in the checkout lane,
with wafting aerosols;
I’m sorry, do I know you?
You look familiar but we’ve all gained weight.
Every move beyond the doorstep scripted,
sterile, repetitive,
repetitive,
measuring risk,
debating mitigation,
ethical considerations,
counting odds like a bookie;
I don’t want to die
but I don’t want to live like this;
I’m taking a personal day Friday.