The Quarantine Chronicles, Day 30

DAY 30: Who, who out there, who

in here, in our apartment

building, of eighteen families, who

is having trouble eating, no nutrition 
in hot air and proclamations, after

losing a job or never having one,

who, who goes hungry today? The 
teachers and cops and retirees and 
doctors are okay, they get paid, poor people 
with an extended family are okay, they share,

it is the Eleanor Rigbys, the Father

McKenzies that sit alone with

the TV on and a bowl of pastina

in broth, before getting undressed

for bed at nine, their gray hair roots

showing, they say their prayers then

mid-morning they call both

their friends each day like clockwork

until they get: "I can't talk right

now. I'll call you back." When

the feverish wheezing starts they might

call a neighbor -- maybe us -- or an

ambulance, get a swab from a friendly 
physician, wait for the results in bed, days 
pass -- COVID DAYS -- wondering how they 
got the novel coronavirus if they never went out

except to the grocer and pharmacy.

Then they get hallucinations of life

on a farm, a beautiful child-

hood of play and adventure

that they never had, running

through fields of flowers, the

sweet smell overwhelming.

The Quarantine Chronicles, Day 29

DAY 29: I've never died, not even

once, though I may have gotten close,

so, maybe I'm just saying

maybe I'm

immortal.

How would I know? Just

because lots of people have

died and many are dying now

doesn't mean, logically, that I must.

Okay, it's likely, but not certain.

So, I could do many things,

collect knowledge like an

encyclopedia or collect

experiences -- hang-gliding,

glacier dog-sledding, eating

live worms, running every

marathon, until someone

anyone begs me for sex -- like 

some lonely stinking rich

loser, Branson What's-his-name

Nah. I could be president. Nah

and hell Nah. I could rescue

the world. Nah.

(doesn't deserve it).

Actually if I knew I were immortal

I would hide, never tell a soul

and move frequently, so no one

could see that I don't age -- no

significant others, that's the

condition. You get everything

you want

except anything of

value.

An unimportant life, longing

-- they say -- for an end to

give it backwards meaning

longing for death, even suffering

choking in pain, gasping

-- alone, like a victim of

a terrible plague.

The Quarantine Chronicles, Day 28

DAY 28: My face to the world, I

showed only one for twenty years

one wry smile knowing and

mad I kept the same face folded in a

book, then yesterday I updated

I produced a new face to the

world, a new wryness madness

without knowing the folks out there

who would take it as a sign that

my heart my arms are open

for business, messages like

shots in the dark, ricocheting like numbers

on the spinning wheel, greetings

and warmth into the arctic

winter, because I cracked my

egg and let my penguin chick

furball out to cry a squeaky

song, they it came to me -- five ten

fifteen -- and I did not ignore

or reject (as is my old style)

I welcomed new friends into my study

like students on a video-call

come share with me, I am

no longer afraid of the other,

I may die soon -- that I'm afraid

of -- but as I am alive, I will

respond, I will replicate, I

will join the human circus

the carnival, for one queasy

go on the ferris wheel, the

only wheel in town.

The Quarantine Chronicles, Day 27

DAY 27: [WE WIN. 1,100 IN ONE 

DAY IN THE GOOD OL' U.S.A.]

Everything's fine, everything's

fine, until it's not, you gonna

believe me, Jim Jones or your

lyin' fake eyes, white face

black face white face black

you sure look funny wearin'

that mask.

You got numbers, boy, do I got

numbers for you -- your husband

wife children parents neighbors

friends doctors nurses grocers --

numbers going up or down

is this the Dow, is the Dow

up? What's the number? Of

recovered, of beds empty or

occupied, of masks to cover

the horror, the number of

people on stage, how many

centimeters apart, how

many times a day can I walk

around this same block?

I'm not feeling too good

is that number the dead

up to now or predicted

in my country or worldwide

or the corpses right by my side

thrown on a pile

thrown into a hole

-- the Dow's up though

the family tree down

broken burnt diseased

now dead -- count me out.

The Quarantine Chronicles, Day 26

DAY 26: Actresses, journalists and

intellectuals -- ghosts of fantasies

imagined women walking from room

to room how they move through one

another because they are ghosts

of the cotton-candy of a lazy mind.

I see myself in the wings, checking

my tie, I walk up to the lectern

the podium, counting my steps

lay down my notes and begin

to speak with casual opening

remarks before getting into the

tragic substance of death, death,

more death -- pain, weeping,

loss, forever -- now.

My cat is a real thing calling

my name, a living being to

remind me of heat, breathing

heartbeat, I lower my nose

into its neck to find comfort

in the feel and smell of warm

fur and the feedback the

reciprocation the answer to

all questions -- yes, you exist

in the real world, you are

whole, worthy and loved if

only by a fellow creature

who doesn't understand but

understands better than you.

The Quarantine Chronicles, Day 25

DAY 25: I live on a hill

in a fifth-floor apartment

I haven't been outside in 25+ days

I look down and out the window

-- cats

I look up and across the straits

-- seagulls.

Seagulls and cats

they like the peace

no traffic, no disturbance

they get enough to eat

the females are in heat

the males follow them around

I see quiet cats looking down

asleep on the tin-roofs of shacks

jumping on parked cars

leaving a paw-mark on the dust

their lives are better, more generous

thanks to our disappearance.

The seagulls soar, dip and

dive for plentiful fish snacks

squawk whenever they like

they can hear one another's

voice again, no they don't recall

a time when all was this easy

peaceful, natural, lovely

free -- the young have no

idea how things once were.

So, the only sounds I hear outside right now

are cat steps and gull wing flaps --

oh, no, there goes another ambulance.

The Quarantine Chronicles, Day 24

DAY 24: Self-preservation / self-

mutilation, we swing baby

swing low, to and fro

there's a wartime firing squad

outside the front door, I'm sure

it's there, my wife, thin frail

so beautiful in a cotton dress,

cannot stand to be

caged, to feel hunger and

sleep-deprivation, to hear

babies cry, she cannot calm

them, she is hysterical, throwing

objects, which she says helps, it doesn't

help, we wouldn't have a plate

if we had food.

-- I can't take it anymore!

-- no, don't, you'll be killed,

I can't lose you too but

because free will and mercy prevail

she runs screaming out the door into

a shower of bullets, falls

and covers the pavement with

blood.

the woman I love

mother to my children

I couldn't stop her

I tried, she wouldn't listen

-- go out, I said, and you die

-- I don't care, she said, I can't

take another minute of this.

now what?

do I run out too?

can I mourn here in the dark stall?

am I glad to be alive?

swing, baby, swing.

The Quarantine Chronicles, Day 23

DAY 23: Three-month Tsunami

warning alarm siren -- it's coming

really, I ain't lyin',

we can see it already hit other

places so we know, get away from
the coast, lock yourselves in

up on the fifth floor

Via delle Mura (Wall St.).

Will somebody, however, turn

that damned annoying wailing off, I get it,

I'm going deaf, three months from now

we could all be dead

however, I don't believe it

we didn't die before

and so we, we ignore that 

bunch of hypothetical nothing

go get some IPAs for poker

night, follow the brats in little

league, gotta go to church

then the mall, IHOP, 

two month, one month, one week --

shut up, we're good

we're Christian strong

we're white is might

arms in arms

let's go down to the beach

surf's up

Pebble Beach golf course

next to Waterworld.

Can't let the ice-cream cart guy

go broke, go for broke, however

nobody broke, everybody

watch the tide, go out

way out, how cool, take a selfie,
chase the foam --
Look, it's coming back,

should we run? -- nah, we're

good -- it's all good.

There's a big giant wave coming;

so what? we'll ride it out.

The Quarantine Chronicles, Day 22

DAY 22: Yeast. Yeast for bread and

pizza. Let's have a pizza night

but they're all closed. We can make

our own: flour salt sugar oil and

yeast -- The first thing to run out

in every grocery store in Italy. Yeast.

No more pizza, calzoni, pitoni, grissini,

bread, plain white bread -- Italy, you're

in trouble now. And if it won't rise,

if it won't rise, who's complaining?

Every wife in the country, that's who,

who can't make bread, can't pound 

that dough with her fists, squish, punch, raising

tiny puffs of white flour into the air. Pound, pound

pound will do no good if there's no yeast.

Can we rise to the occasion?

Can we modify our tastes?

Jesus, our superhero, ate unleavened

bread -- look Ma, no yeast. I have my 
doubts. Normally when you go to the super-
market of the ten thousand products there

yeast is the cheapest -- it's 25 cents

a cube, good for about 6 pizzas

maybe a couple / three loaves 

of bread too -- 25 cents, that's nothing

in fact, at the corner market --

Signora Katia, when I go to

her -- she'll give it to me free,

no 25 cents even, yeast is life, man

life is a gift. Here, take it.

The Quarantine Chronicles, Day 21

DAY 21: It's times like these, times

like these when you find out

who your friends are -- you

cheated back then, didn't pay your

debts and now you ask for another

loan? -- the nerve, we're dying here --

it was a joke after the election,

gravity to emphasize in irony

-- we're all gonna die --

Trump, that is, will kill us all

three years later he's started, he

thinks it's Gramma but it's his

mistress / daughter / self

who can't stop coughing and will soon drown,

it's times like these -- who will

rise to the occasion, who will

collapse in tears on live TV

who will try to beat their neigh-

bors and who will sit still

while the house burns down:

all the chickens and rabbits die

the children's toys melt and

silver picture frames go black

-- you sing "Murder Most

Foul" so as not to hear the 

screams of the exponential

the exponential young people exposed

the exponential old people bound home

the exponential in silent cities who

have no hope

to breathe free, among friends

friends, where are you now?

The Quarantine Chronicles, Day 20

DAY 20: What's happening what's the

problem what's the solution can

we brainstorm this away

critical thinking on hold

on pause on hold, hold me

baby, hold me somebody in your

virtual arms, it's time

to get small

to let the walls close in

to feel the embrace of your

surroundings

get small

go in, further in, suck in 

the world, the nation, the neighborhood

out the window, suck in

the buildings, the house, the rooms

the things you can see right now

inside, inside yourself

inside your belly button

leave your mind alone

look down your drain

suck all existence into your

center and ...

and pull yourself in behind it

pull yourself into your self

nothing matters, your life

history or your feelings

or your physical sensations

turn yourself inside out

pull into your navel

and be reborn.