Pandemic Poem #28
BDC Ancient Trail and creek with B., 3.10
Wake at six, nap at nine, second date and three miles from eleven to one
Life has been reduced to numbers.
Connecting the dots correctly
reveals a blackline master of a desert island (with a palm tree)
Occupied by one, occasionally multiplied by two.
Reports of infections go down, then up
Reports of violent protests go up, then down
Waves of illness, waves of rioters.
I am learning to surf.