For many decades we’ve been alive,
recurrently, repeatedly, repetitively,
big deal, but not that big. Managing.
Minimal precautions, avoiding risks,
averting promising disasters,
wearing seatbelts while driving,
and lifejackets while boating.
Walking with scissors.
But 2020 has by necessity become a year of cautious living.
We carefully think through the details of common chores;
buying groceries, buying gasoline, buying clothes for places we can’t go,
putting off the doctor’s visit until spring,
or maybe the next spring with no symptoms.
We watch each other for signs of benign betrayal,
a sentinel at the door darts out for a smoke,
a guard let’s down his or her guard,
a momentary lapse in the house of cards of love.
Our hands are tired from red raw scrubbing
the length of time it takes to sing the chorus
of Elton John’s “I’m Still Standing,”
which we want to be true.
We mind our breathing,
mask to muffle dicey mouths,
trace back to the original face
the coughs or sneezes hurled
inadvertently in our direction.
We have studied not just the
physiology of the ‘sneeze,’
but its history, its politics,
its cultural norms, good manners,
the economy of the ‘cough,’
its hazardous deliveries.
It has been an exhausting year,
things never before dangerous
are dangerous now.
All my life I’ve lived safely settled in Troy,
the enemy visible but outside the wall.
And now this horse.