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.

The Quarantine Chronicles, Day 19

DAY 19: I just got done slicing jalapenos

now I have to put in my

contacts because we're having a

Corona party online

I can only see four friends

(video chat program limitations)

at a time but it'll be crazy fun

to watch each other get drunk

eating the guac and chips I got

yesterday when I went out to

the grocery store (still open) for a

week's supply of brewskis that might

only last a couple days.

I did not open carry to the

Save-Mart but I will be

cocked and loaded to guard

my beer supply from my room-

mate's bad habits,

if this Corona party works

we could do it again next week

for my birthday except that

my girlfriend won't or can't

come over and I hate my house-

mates who steal my shit so I'm

almost ready to go online

to some virtual dating service

with naked pictures included

and laugh with a stranger like 

we've never laughed before, loud and long

that expiration of bad beer breath

keeps the evil spirits away

then wash everything down

with alcohol

so much alcohol --

cocked and loaded, baby.

The Quarantine Chronicles, Day 18

DAY 18: Searching hysterically for

the right meditation app

or youtube video to practice mind-

fullness

in these still quiet times in the eye

of the raging storm, world on

fire, sky tornadoing down fatal

germs, best books, recipes (I've

tried), funny cat videos and

slogans about getting sick

celebrities who don't count 

celebrating their own existence with

applause for doctors and nurses

who can't hear,

press conferences, online teaching

ordering groceries, cancelling plans

not telling loved ones they're loved

imagining them being taken away

by the army, never to be seen

again, goodbye, I love you

when they can't, hooked up to

machines, fingers crossed

and a hearse with the motor

running out the back door

that knows the way to the

crematorium, cigarette

smoking driver thinking about

his mother, a beer with his

friends, nausea of TV

home, a shower, a soft bed

a wife and kids or not --

while the smoke rises and begins

to swirl.

The Quarantine Chronicles, Day 17

DAY 17: Oh, those crazy videos

all that funny stuff circulating

singers doing concerts from home

(who knew they sang so badly?)

and all the slogans, bits of wisdom

like candy, trick or treat

when we should be eating beans

like cowboys

dutch oven chili every day

months and months the same

did they complain

about no free wi-fi

no wine-bar aperitifs

golf or tennis

or did they complain

about the lousy prairie picnic cuisine

hell yes, every day

months and months the same

did they suffer

hell yes. are we? hell

we open the door to

suffering and invite it in

infected or not, grim reaper or not

revenants all with the face 

of our crazy mayor

screaming: stay at home

where the fuck are you going?

(he talks like a cowboy)

-- me, you talkin' to me?

me just out for a bit of loot

get me more hard candy

I need it or I get depressed

I get sad and forlorn

real sick or only soul-sick --

well, okay then,

if you make it back

we can joke about it.

The Quarantine Chronicles, Day 16

DAY 16: The nation entering lockdown

but they'd already paid

for the skiing vacation

they had to take, to steal away

sip champagne, lifestyles of rich

famous doctors, grunts in scrubs
immune perhaps, special

-- ah, no

they came home, back to the salt mines,

the sickbays, wards, walking

the wards, checking clipboards and vitals

for days after days
until their own symptoms

developed.

Our town nearly free of the

novel virus, now these country-clubbers

have infected hundreds

two hospitals and a rest home

in which all eighty guests

are positive for COVID-19, as well as 

the twelve people who work there --

no one can leave except in

a coffin and they shoot videos

on their phones of each other

crying and calling for help

-- too late.

Skiing, I'm sure, is fun

I've never been

it's an activity for the well-to-do

who got their share

protect their share

don't share, yet

do share.