Jun 27, 2021

2 prose poems. Eh


The television news never speaks of the health of the creatures in the forest or of the deeds of insects. The reporters do not give updates on the growth of the spruce trees or the douglas fir, and no one describes the sound the wind makes tree branches to the home audience. But the number of COVID-19 deaths? That is information that you cannot escape. Grief is our cloak as the wind blows.

-jobe


We are surrounded by a tremendous wall of death. The stench reaches up into the sky, even the clouds retch. No one speaks of yesterday or of tomorrow. At night, the believers pray. In the morning, the gravedigger returns to work. We are surrounded by a tremendous wall of death. This wall has a name; COVID-19.

-jobe


LINKS -

thanks/jobe 


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