Before I begin my celebration of Poetry Month, which this year will involve going on strike for better working conditions, here’s a poem.
WHAT WE’VE LOST
I was shopping this morning, double-masked
because my second shot is days away.
Young women working the check-out counters
were waiting for customers and laughing,
laughing loud at some private check-out joke.
And I found my anger surge up at them:
young women, masked, trapped behind plastic shields.
Being human, sharing humor. And anger
at myself for fearing the sound of delight.
What have we lost? What have I lost?
I hope someday no one will understand
double masks, plastic shields, second shots.