My blue latex gloved hand
holds a yellow number 2 pencil
jotting down upon a legal sized scoresheet
intersections, head checks and stop lines
I notice every eye flutter and sweaty palm wipe
how markets are full while roads are sparse
an itch on my cheek that cannot be touched
and the wash of bright Spring sun on fading brown
When our forty-five minutes are up
certificate signed, black pen Cloroxed wiped
I great the next customer from a distance
extending my blue fingers for their documents
It has been two crazy weeks without inspiration
words like the virus hiding somewhere out there
perhaps next week I will shelter-in-place
watching for cars outside my window
No comments:
Post a Comment