Not As Much Need to Sweat from the Fear

Before it was fire, a
car accident, a plane crash
en route to Australia
made sense

to invest with adrenaline,
pounding heartbeat, with
personal sweat and
misguided belief.

My worries fed upon
distant statistics,
remote possibility,

until they approached me
where the street ends and
were reintroduced as
my long-lost friends

dying to meet at
the grocery store,
planning to greet when
I breach the bus door,

and I can’t be far from them
at the park—or at night when
the droplets spread
through the dark.

Now they are nearby
and then when their breath
is coughed at me, laden
with spoonsful of death

I haven’t as much need to
sweat from the fear.
My worries arrived,
the pandemic is here.



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