Sunday, April 5, 2020

The Suspense Is Chilling Us

They're only 35 miles away and getting closer every minute,
Bogart tells Bergman, gauging the cannonade distance
while they sip champagne on their last day in Paris.

The enemy was German then. Our invaders now are wee--
germs, if irony’s what we want, which we don't, nor the
half-assed rhyme it rode in on. But the comparison is apt,
of that we can't deny, a time of don’t or die.

Our hugs are only air.

And without ever hearing a rumbling boom, we know too well
the enemy is here: shops are closed, jobs lost, paper products--
oh, the horror—and more and more masked faces of those
who dare leave the presumed safety of their homes.

Dying has moved into view from afar, now our local papers
and friends who’ve lost friends, family, and soon…

We don’t smile much anymore. It is to shiver with worry
and doubt. I made a mask from a blue bandanna and
rubber bands, which I will wear outside pretty soon.

When I do, it will muffle my voice should we happen
to meet in, say, the paper products aisle, and I will say
something trite, like,

Here’s looking at you, kid.

                                                                                                                     m.d. paust

4 comments:

  1. Very nice, Mathew. I think I will wear a scarf as a mask when we go out.

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    Replies
    1. Thanks, Tracy. That's a good idea. My walking buddy's been wearing her "buff" that way. She's Princeton grad, and the buff is a tiger's face. Rather intimidating, I must say.

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  2. Dying has moved into view from afar, now our local papers
    and friends who’ve lost friends, family, and soon…

    Those ellipses are so chilling, Mathew.

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