Spring, 2020
legs wrapped around my kitchen chair
heart pounding
hands trembling
images parade across the screen
a bad trip
without the acid
body bags
stacked in hospital halls
thrown into refrigerated trucks
ditch witch digging mass graves
I rip my eyes from the screen
need to see this horror
for it to be real
mask pulled on
to blend with the essential
walk like a zombie? or
scuttle like a scared bug?
scuttle
wish i had worn sneakers
footsteps bounce eerily back to me
few cars to mask the sound
at the hospital
parking lot empty
no refers here
no lines of meat wagons
the guards won’t let me in
through the glass front, an empty foyer
staff playing games in admittance
backlit by a lonely corridor
Where are the bodies?
down the street at the funeral parlor
a man polishes the bumper of a hearse
in an empty parking lot
no mourners this morning
Where are the bodies?
at the morgue uptown
no line of coroner’s vans
just one van
unloading one expired soul
Why the masks?
Why the lockdowns?
Why the warp speed jab?
“Where are the bodies?” I shout.
the answer leaks from a darkened doorway
where sits an old man in a chair
“When the shots roll out the bodies will fall,”
he says
hearing this I hastened home
fearing the jab
more than the disease.
