Have No Fear. A poem by Flish McCarthy

And suddenly we are somewhere else

not baby boomers but elders.

The news is hectic on handwashing

and quiet about our chances.

except to indicate we may be past due.


I feel like a very small animal

in the very large herd of humans.

And my chances are quite good

for culling. I can go or stay

I am good either way, to leave


before anything else happens,

right after I buy the cherry red

convertible. I aim to drive out

of town with the top down

let the breeze brush my hair.


I will wave to strangers, talk

to everyone I meet in town

or street. The list of the necessary:

favourite books and pens, stacks

of loose-leaf paper, spare glasses


pencils. Warm socks. Soap.

Ready for anything except

the small box of separation

from the rest. Fear is another

contagion I cannot live with.

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