(an abundance
of caution)
You can spot the lovers,
they are standing closer than
six feet apart
and they seem less fearful
than the other strangers
you pass in the semi-deserted park.
The lovers want to make plans,
making plans
means there is a future.
They agree on a date.
Tomorrow
or next month, the uncertainty
will follow them.
As if
there is no tomorrow.
There is always tomorrow.
The dystopian sky
a cloudless blue,
the lovers seek shade
behind a wooden bench.
Legs and arms entangle
no one here to see them
nowhere else to go
the museums are closed
theaters are dark
and how do they know
they are safe
in their embrace?
“If kisses are deadly,
let me die in your arms!”
their florid exclamations
mingle in the air
with cherry blossoms
and invisible threats.
There is no shortage of love,
only shortage of time—
golden hour sunlight on their faces
as evening approaches.
They do not see what comes next
any more than they notice you
watching. You forgot
you were watching
look away
turn back
they are gone.
What were their parting words?
Promises
or unanswered questions
or just good byes
between them?
(shelter
in place)
the park is empty
the lovers will not return
until this is over
their bench
a possible contamination source
children are warned away from
the scariest movie monsters
are always unseen
“I’ll wait for you.”
“What choice do you have?”
pale horse on the horizon
overshadows anything so trite
as romance
novel virus, but the plot unravels
once the lockdown begins
you walk past the bench
six feet from a jogger
who appears from nowhere
fatigue sets in
memories of plagues gone by
survived in former lives