By | 1 May 2021

Now we know pandemics make
for a shortage of toilet paper
and self-restraint. Turns out
we can’t all be preppers;
real pundits know better
than to leave room in cupboards,
space-efficient, like Manila’s slums.
Distance is a luxury,
so is cool air and quiet from houses,
the sound of biting nails
crusted from begging in harsh heat
even as compassion dries up like a lake.

Some of us, safe in our couches,
wonder how we got from summer dreams
to respirators, daily scrolling
through a blend of death tolls
and fake news of dolphins reclaiming space.
They don’t make headlines
about rooms shedding a square foot each day,
pressing us closer to our trepidation.

Meanwhile, Earth thrives without us.
What if our last memory of the world
is a hospital wall?
So we retreat to our small countries,
as on Sundays. My folks recite psalms
to the tube, a faint quiver in their voices,
their hands cupped like troughs catching rain
in an empty St. Peter’s Square.

This entry was posted in 101: NO THEME 10 and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

Related work:

  • No Related Posts Found

Comments are closed.