Poem for the pandemic #6

A Mother’s Advice

I should have known

my mother’s advice

would save the world.

Wash your hands, she said.

Cover your mouth when you cough,

she said. Stay home

if you are sick, she said.

But here I am, much too old,

finally listening.

What else,

I can’t help but wonder,

did she get right

while I was too busy to listen.

Poem for the pandemic #4

"Fearing crowds, Harris County to close parks for Easter weekend..."

--Houston Chronicle 8 April 2020

The parks now are closed

and yet Ralph, the old man

who wears a name tag

(because sometimes he forgets)

and prays on his fingers

(counting his Rosary),

still walks the path

--nothing to stop him.

And the ex-marine

in his bandana

still runs the edges

of the fence steadily

solemnly nodding

to Ralph as they pass.

And Mary –who always stops

to chat with someone--

is pushing her daughter’s pug

in a stroller because

he’s too old to walk

but we all still need to get out.

She waves to me

out in the street.

I return her greeting

but continue to walk alone

unwilling to break the rules.

The parks are all closed

but inside one of them

a blind pug sits in a stroller

waiting to see, as a bird

hiding in a cypress

begins to sing.

Poem for the pandemic #3

This year for Lent

My desert is a kitchen

chair on the porch

and a neighbor

who calls from the curb

like an angel:

Need anything?

Quite sadly, I say, No.

I have everything.

And that is my biggest

problem.

And yet, if you’re going,

toilet paper is always

nice and why not pick me up

some Shiner.

Of course, if you’re getting beer

how about some chips?

And, since you asked,

I’m almost out of bean dip.

This year for Lent

I think I’m just

giving up.