Numbers dominate the news,
I have the Covid-19 blues that’s goin’ around.
Nights are days as the world’s upside down.
Another yesterday, another passing of an opportunity,
another day, another thousand we have to bury,
the count keeps rising, people keep dying.
The stages of reopening and closing
pass like false phases of the moon.
Listening to the T.V. news in our 60’s living room,
who’s mushrooms burst in a wallpaper bloom.
Ruminations of politicians who’re purposefully vague,
fold over a hand of a terrible plague.
We’re all upside down and eating a fast,
reflecting on the fact that nothing lasts,
is that good or is that bad?
Where are our heroes that keep us going?
Where are the words that keep us hoping?
Has God heard our song we pray?
Will we wake to another day?
Fighting off the uncomforting notion
that God may only be in, in person devotion,
alone, so alone, staying and praying at home.
Wondering, does Zoom prayer make the grade?
Will unmarked police come in and raid
our cities, leaving our democracy in the dust?
Heavy is the news from all points of view.
I feed one fat raccoon with a short tail of rust
every night at half past three,
he’s driven to feed upon the seed that’s free.
Behind a glass door, my nose,
like a pressed, red rose, up against the pane,
wondering, might we be friends in vain.
Is there’s something to obtain
in an interspecies relationship between coon and man?
Quis est homo has been a sham.
I’ve lost the adulation of my own humanity,
stacking some shards of what was once our community.
God, where art Thou?
Are You in the solace of the silent streets
where wander all the bellies of Your beasts?
I’ve been praying through song, for You, God,
to come along, and help us through this,
to grind this sickness into grist,
and cast it upon the taking winds
in an evening that seems not to end.