Our feet dig at the carpet or charred floor,
we humans, craving to break free of bonds
meant to save our lives from virus, abhor
its dancing out there in open air, ponds,
walking surfaces and walls, tables and
chairs, still hiding where we least expect it.
Maybe even mouths of loved ones, soft hands
we used to welcome. “You must respect it!”
Fauci warns. Yet we don’t want to. Let’s wash
it away with booze. Turn off the TV.
Hit the beach and take a snooze. Spend some cash
in pub or spa. Rush from reality
to work or school. But we sit alone, in pain,
wondering if we’ll ever embrace again.
Roger Armbrust
July 2, 2020
