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.