Stay
at home
Do
not travel out
If
you must stray, mask your identity
Distance
yourself socially, seventy-two inches
An arbitrary
amount
No
visitors allowed
Lock
your doors
My
silver hair reveals my risk
Essentially,
I am not needed
I am alone
It was
not too bad, in the beginning
Hidden
in my favorite chair with a bottomless mug at my side
My
fingers flash across the keyboard
Dreaming the Great American Novel
Sans endless interruptions
Straying
from favored chair to over-stuffed sofa
I
binge watch romantic comedies,
(Tell
no one, I plea)
and apocalyptic sagas
Until now becomes tomorrow
Potato
chip dust covers my shirt
Being
alone, pants are optional
Alexa
serenades me with golden oldies
As I
eat breakfast for supper
Meat
without veggies
Chocolate
morsels topping every meal
Two
glasses of brandy
Shame on me
It is not too bad
Being alone
Days grow
into weeks
Sunday or Monday
Who really knows?
My novel untouched, glares accusingly at the vacant chair
In my
remoteness, I have misplaced the remote
No
images
No sounds
Alexa left me too
My cupboard
is bare
I
wander out, donned in anonymity
Seventy-two
inches has never looked so far
No
meat
Heaps
of veggies
If I
must
I return Home
Carrying
my bag, wearing my disguise
Shuffle, shuffle
Day
seventy-two
Alone
begot Loneliness
Painless
labor
It was not too bad
Before
You have captured it so well, as always.
ReplyDeleteThank you.
Delete