THE COMMUTER CARS WENT DARK

Spring was yet unable to find its

grip when the human world around

each cautious bud began to slip

into a pandemic of illness, isolation,

and depression. The stock markets

warned of a coming recession as I

went about my life no longer

feeling hurried, until new

mandates crippled a thriving economy

wrangling me with worry.

The empty shops.

empty shelves.

empty streets.

Is this how Communism finally brings the world to its feet?

Internal fear operating into overwhelm -

Counting fewer courageous commuter trains coast pass my home.

Darkened windows without a single passenger

Lest the conductor, unseen, on his own.

Unsettling words flooding frantic news –

Social distancing, furlough,

pandemic,

rationed use.

Who is to blame for this novel,

authoritarian ruse?

The silence of the world sentenced to

Time Out is deafeningly cold as we collectively

tabulate cases of illness and a growing death toll.

Will we wake from this nightmare or

will it end only to recur again?

INANITION.

God asks if I finally have time to listen.

I do.

But I don’t want to ask the “Why? This, too?”

Witnessing evil doesn’t make

His eternal promise of victory untrue.

Listless folks ever-so-charmed by

the vanity of Hollywood greed

now plead with healthcare workers, grocers,

Farmers, and supply chains

tirelessly supporting production of

that which we need.

Rubbing eyes, our unmasked egotism turns us to truth.

The President announces, “This is war,”

as we scramble to flatten the curve,

I wonder what more we are fighting for.

Our fallen world had already lost more than

what illness can claim.

People hoarding toilet paper reveals

just how shallow, insane

Life will move on,

but never the same.

Whom do you look to when

the one who always told you things will be okay

isn’t saying that anymore?

In 40 years, I’ve not seen him shaken.

My father, the physician

now mystified, defeated -

refusing to assure hope’s desperation

won’t be forsaken.

His wisdom, his pride –

puddle plunked today.

Things – are - not - going – to – be - okay.

Honor holds fast to the oath of duty to serve as

I tell him to stop working,

Stay safe! Stay near!

Away from this invisible enemy consuming

life as months, not students,

graduate to

years.

I take on another Monday morning. Home. Alone.

One day, will I tell my children their grandpa fought in

the most recent global war?

“He was on the front lines,” I will say.

“Trying to save human dignity from

The savagery of

biological warfare and

the pathetic nature of our

selfishness we can no longer ignore.

The tranquil train has stopped like

a funeral procession without the right hitch.

The windows muted black as the coffin

she may become one day.

Sleep is required for un-quarantined workers

now unable to cease work or retire.

A blushed violet tulip sun dances into bloom,

“The flowers,” I whisper to my father, “They are immune.”

Ongoing stillness reveals the

best and worst

of our herded humanity.

I pray when this chapter ends

We find

there’s still

something left of

our

Liberty.