we long for the old days
you know, the ones from last week?
When positive meant optimistic
TV ads stab at our wounds.
Every pictorial, vividly ludicrous
dance troupes, live audiences, concerts in parks
kids leaping on and off school buses.
eating puffy Cheetos with our hands shoved elbow deep into bags
licking the orange fluff from our fingers.
clinging to each other while we wept in grief
hands dipped in tears gripped
we scratched our noses without guilt
washed our hands without singing
answered doorbells without thinking
opened UPS packages with abandon
longed for tropical cruises
held tight to handrails for safety
during meandering shopping trips.
the sun does not shine here despite
endless virtual, viral
For God slumbers,
Dreamless, on Ghost Nebula
just 1470 light years from earth.
Fighting mynd belonging to monkeys
I hate this has become my muse
Quiet these many years.
I pose in yoga’s Warrior II.
Aching joints roll the waterworks.
I dare not touch my face to staunch
Flowing. Settling into
all the other antiques from
The Good Old Days