by Robert E. Petras
Me—leaning over the balcony, Confined for a 14-day sentence To the garage apartment, Found guilty by nose swab, The negative positive of these times. My wife drops off my food on the stoop Like an abandoned baby, Food I couldn’t taste anyway, Not even salt-and-vinnies, Nor the Amish mac and cheese. Beer tasted like my own contaminated spit. I am a domino taken out From the masked mases, All six feet of me socially estranged During these strange days, leaving me Climbing the walls, clawing the panels, Binge-watching the hours.
Sent to us: February 5, 2021