This is how it looks
when nature strikes back:
not the power of wind
in fire or water
nor roiling temblors
lava tsunamis,
the earth not being alive
it cannot care,
but the smallest trace of life
arises filling our cells
with endless doppelgangers
robotic progeny
efficient entropy bursting forth
to cool the engine of our pride
in our medically induced
economic coma.
Viruses do not eat
they only reproduce
images like squeezy tension balls
knobs pop out and in
raping our cells.
Are they really pink?
Do viruses have souls?
reincarnated from? To?
Are they the reservoir of souls?
Interstellar cysts?
Or is it just too improbable
that they would not exist?
But they are us, we they:
we too have RNA,
and we make more for them
they do not care
cold biomachines
of death.
So shelter in place
without a place
days and nights unchanged
from former crises:
under bridges
cloverleaf encampments
sleepingbag bodegas
wash your hands
without clean water soap or sink
without.
Within the bodies of our siblings
on the streets
t-cells muster antibodies
to the cellular front
their bones and blood
the battlefield
in the breach for all of us
heard immunity?
Staggered entry to the food co-op
everyone polite
in six-foot isles people nod
a little bow
wide around the corners
a dance of distance:
You gonna go? Namaste.
Pirouette with shopping cart
just beyond arms reach
the air between us thick,
foreboding.
Plenty of food to be had
for cash or credit.
People’s Foodbank,
sewage backup, had to move.
St. Vinnies serving soup in paper cups
and bag lunch take-n-go,
sidewalk spaces being
cordoned off with chainlink—
got mask?
Can’t eat on the street
with a mask on your face.
Eat and shelter
in no place at all.
Stay strong be well