ode

Here's the poem I wrote and shared today based on Paul Guest's poem of the same title - "Ode." 

ode 

(written in the style and syntax of "Ode" by Paul Guest)

In praise of the face mask

which has in all my life just been worn

to separate my aspirations from the spittle of other mouths

like an affront I can't detect,

not today, not when molecules

knock like imperceptible pinballs

into the air for my lungs, for my lymph

to combat. In praise of the whenever

coming ending not the xenophobic denialistic 

liar pounding our eardrums daily

with his propaganda so that he might convince — 

in praise of the poverty-stricken, the black and brown essentials,

the sacrificial life he discards like garbage.

In praise of guaranteed salaries. In praise 

of the dream of an impenetrable door,

made of steel, closing off

from the real threat of an infection's unknowing wrath.

In praise of the next world.

In praise of the most novel virus

human research has recorded,

that microbe the first mutated DNA of bats,

reaching us only now,

like a surprise, like an enemy, an invisible enemy

from which you and I, friend,

feared for the corpses rising

from the bed's stale sheets

to the fluorescent bulbs of that room.

In praise of the blue-clad workers of hospitals

and their tainted gear that is shed

their garb almost gingerly

when stripped from the bodies they served

for people they knew,

if only for hours,

before death did. In praise of those hours

that led here to this instant,

to which I am glued

like a magnet. In praise of electromagnetism, in praise of my charge. 

to vices

in the absence of social 

outings

to vices vices vices

we resort 

a glass of wine 

while

zooming

to make everything better

tolerable

ok

for now

in the absence of pressure

to vices vices vices 

we resort

sleeping late

alarm never set

as though it never 

existed

rolling out of bed

whenever

or at some artificial specific time

only to be caught

lounging

who knows how long

after

in the absence of routine

to vices vices vices 

we resort

cleaning out closets

basements

arranging old photos

rearranging furniture

obsessively making our spaces

as conducive as possible

for long-term

and sane

stay

in the absence of health clubs

to vices vices vices

we resort

jogging on the pavement

versus the rotating belt 

pounding feet 

knees

criss-crossing streets

to avoid dogs

on leashes

on lawns 

swerving around walkers

passing Amazon Prime vans

going by folks 

sitting

chatting

unmasked

on beach chairs 

in garages

or playing family tag

on lawns

or shooting baskets

in driveways

in the absence of purpose

to vices vices vices 

we resort

drowning our selves

our anxieties

our worries

our stressors

in food

we cook

we eat

we bake

we persist 

in oral and visual and auditory

consumption

of Netflix

Hulu

Showtime

HBO

FX

Insta

FB

and news

and news

and more news

and more tears

for health workers

and grocery workers

and farmers

and janitors

and couriers

and other essentials

out there saving the world

we watch 

our bodies erased into couch puddles

our minds and emotions alive 

and brains only half-

awake

in the absence of appointments 

we resort to

vices vices vices

wondering repetitively

what day it is

what month

how much longer

time will go on 

as it stands still

"today is April 18, 2020"

whatever that means

in the absence of to-do's

we create create create

inventions springing up from every

lab 

and gutter

from coding mRNA vaccines

or testing convalescent plasma

to spinning propagandistic theories

to posting exercise shows

or at-home concerts

right down to hoarding cleaning supplies

or N-95's

or ventilators

driving up prices

for individuals, cities, states, countries, the world

to compete 

in the name of making a quick 

and dirty 

buck

up against a new 

as yet undefined

and surely 

unprecedented 

unreal reality

as unprecedented as everything

that has occurred 

since 2016

we resort to

online shopping for delivery

of cloth masks

of craft supplies

of Bounty wipes

of needs

and wants

to calm our frayed nerves

yes 

we hide in

cope in

soak in

sustain in

vices vices vices

distracting us

safeguarding us

for growing unnumbered years older

for survival

in the face of

keeping our precious breath

to ourselves

Hi all, here's the poem I wrote at yesterday's meeting based on "Things to do in the Belly of the Whale" by Dan Albergotti:

"Find the evidence of those before you. 

Destroy it." (Things to Do in the Belly of the Whale 

http://www.towncreekpoetry.com/FALL08/ALBERGOTTI_THINGS.htm)

if only

if only we could change the parameters

whereas a month ago

one of life's collective pauses was perhaps

the hush between the previews and the feature film

which was a mere pause between 

those only at the theater

with all of us living our own 

"busy lives"

on our own 

trajectories

what of the pause of a collective tragedy?

9/11 and the New York blackout of '03

were pauses for the greater metro area

perhaps further

if connected by blood

or business

or some other ties

that wreaked havoc on our emotions

but this

now

is a true collective pause

a rolling pause

for the entire 

planet

it adds time

saves the time of our commute, 

of our errands, of our outings

time which can be used now

to examine

to reflect

to call into question

the origins of our structures

of who holds power

because

this microbe upends us

it can take down the very strongest of us

with a single breath 

or unwashed hand

it can prop up the very weakest of us

who care for others

selflessly

and luckily

whose genetics or good fortune

keep the invisible beast at bay

so what if

in this pause

we take time to examine

the evidence of those before us

what if

we take time to rethink

the entrenched

structures

and origins

and strategize on how to 

dismantle

we'd have to work together

we'd have to be optimists

we'd have to be democratic

but with strong leadership

we'd have to have a shared vision of 

"better"

we could start again

we could take the reins

we could…

but our anxieties will take hold

our divisions will spear us

stifle us

paralyze us

yet again

and again

because this thing 

is bigger

than us

and our fears

will lead us 

right back to

the already known

the default

the white man's

tried and true

Lyrics from Elton John's song "Empty Garden"

I've been knockin'
But no one answers,
I've been knockin'
Most all the day...

When I hear this song it makes me very emotional, because I remember that Elton John wrote it in honor of his dear friend John Lennon, who was killed at the Dakota in Manhattan. A life so tragically lost because of a gun in the possession of a deranged killer. John Lennon, a gifted musician and man of peace who died, ironically, from a violent act. Guns, and often, viruses, take no prisoners.

The virus we are dealing with has presented itself horrifically in so many ways. And the virus has, like an unpredictable, and evil force, taken on each and every world leader. Like an opponent landing a knockout punch when you weren't looking, it caught our "leader" completely off guard; our country's collective thinking was that it wouldn't affect us in our protective American bubble. Especially during the past few years, Americans were enjoying a false sense of economic prosperity, mixed with invincibility and "we don't need anybody-so stay out" isolationism. "It will disappear by April" was a comment offered by our "leader" with cocky assurance (those words came back to bite with a vengeance.) We relaxed and didn't want to hear scientific based facts (and if we did, we only became more frustrated knowing that the people in power who needed to listen to the science, weren't!) The silent enemy made itself loud and clear when it was allowed to burn like a raging fire; if you weren't from a place where the leaders were smart enough to use precious time as a water hose, the fire would consume you. And it did, and it continues to leave many areas with a staggering loss of life.

For every single life lost, there are people who mourn and grieve each loss. So numbers in the tens, hundreds and thousands of lost lives multiply into the millions of grieving hearts. And maybe billions. And when time was lost and there were no more life lines to use, it inevitably became the issue of having to choose who would live or die. For doctors and other medical professionals who live by the Hippocratic oath, it's a situation no one wants to be put in, and having to make "the choice" is perhaps the most dire consequence of this entire horror show. One ventilator-maybe you could split it in two, but not into ten. So who gets to live? And who's left?

Oh I've been calling,
Hey hey Johnny,
Can you come out
to play?
Johnny? Can you come out to play
In your empty garden...

I called it "bread wind" - the warm pillow of yeast-filled air that would overwhelm my nose early in the morning spilling out from the grates of the streets of Aix-en-Provence. Bread wind would make your mouth water for pain au chocolat and baguettes and homemade pastries that were available fresh, daily.  That was way back when I still used to eat wheat.

I called it "bacon wind" - the hot steamy slap in the face of greasy-eggs-n-bacon-filled air that would make you catch your breath when you passed under the grate above you on a busy Manhattan street on your way to Sunday brunch.

Those concepts gave way to "street bread," the torn piece of giant pretzel or leftover bite of hotdog roll or unwanted half of an everything bagel that would somehow end up on the grass next to the suburban sidewalk where I'd walk the dogs.

Now it's "street masks," "street gloves," and street wipes." 

I've been around the world and back and live one mile from the hospital in which I was born.  A handful of years ago, I lived even closer and even walked to the ER once when I thought I needed medical attention. Being so close, my apartment complex houses neighbors who work at the hospital in all capacities.  As I walk by, I wonder about so many things - about their experiences to date, about how many days they must reuse their protective equipment, about how these supplies ended up strewn around our sidewalks. I wonder if the garbage truck, in its efforts to toss the dumpster trash into itself, manages to miss its own mouth on purpose these days.  And I don't wonder why no one bends down to pick them up. 

The Battle Worth Fighting

March 2020

The Battle Worth Fighting

laying flat 

on the hard 

cold steel table

waiting, waiting

facing the inevitable 

technicians lining 

your body in position

matching 

the tattooed black dots  

on the four corners

where danger 

once existed 

Watching, staring 

fearing

alone 

in the sterile room

oversized metal disks

rotate and roam

slowly breathing in 

breathing out 

just slightly

hold, hold, hold

the blue laser lines 

penetrate your

naked breast

marked with 

scars 

of the battle

you continue 

to fight