Pandemic Poems - APRIL 2020
Bio Note: I have had my poems performed for the Empress of Japan and at the
Baseball Hall of Fame, chiseled into stone in New Zealand, and printed on balloons. One
of my poetry translations from the Japanese appeared on the back of 150,000,000 U.S. postage
stamps. My own poetry has been translated into more than twenty languages and has appeared
in hundreds of journals and anthologies, and in dozens of his books. I live in Sammamish, Washington.
haiku
coronavirus—
the library book
I cannot return
Gratitude in a Pandemic
I’m thankful to the mail carriers
who are still delivering mail,
to the garbage collectors who are still
doing their thing.
Thank you to the truck drivers
who are getting groceries to the stores,
and to all the grocers who are remaining open,
doing their best despite the hoarders.
I’m thankful to local government officials
who are making hard but necessary decisions
to close the playgrounds and civic offices,
and to the police for keeping us safe.
I’m thankful for the sun that keeps rising in the east,
for the clouds when they bring us needed rain.
I’m thankful for my family that hasn’t yet gone crazy,
for my friends who have sent encouraging emails
or called on the phone just because.
I’m thankful for the Internet and for social media
that keeps me in touch despite all the noise.
I’m thankful for everything else I can’t think of so easily
because I had taken it all for granted.
What are you thankful for?
An Abundance of Caution
Out of an abundance of caution, we have cancelled:
Your long-awaited book launch.
Hugging your mom on her 96th birthday.
Your daughter’s first drama performance.
The poetry conference at which you were a featured speaker.
Your cruise to wherever.
Out of an abundance of caution, we have cancelled:
All rock and pop concerts.
March Madness basketball games.
Your birthday celebration with friends and family.
Your grandchild’s bar mitzvah.
The non-emergency surgery you had scheduled for months.
Out of an abundance of caution, we have cancelled:
Your trip to Paris.
Visiting your dying grandma.
Attending your friend’s funeral.
Your ability to focus.
Baseball season.
Out of an abundance of caution, we have cancelled:
School.
Ski season.
High school graduation.
Ballet performances.
Your productivity.
Out of an abundance of caution, we have cancelled:
Your job.
The symphony, including the cellist you’d been hoping to hear for a year.
Your best friend’s wedding.
Church services.
Your pottery class.
Out of an abundance of caution, we have cancelled:
Your monthly bowling night.
All tattoo parlor appointments.
Social interaction with any human you’re not related to.
Visiting your sister in palliative care.
Your 20th anniversary surf trip to Baja.
Out of an abundance of caution, we have cancelled:
Me time.
Your trip to Fiji, to Japan, to Ireland.
Moving to a new state.
St. Patrick’s Day.
Mother’s Day.
Out of an abundance of caution, we have cancelled:
Your colonoscopy.
Crossing the Canadian border to check on your mom.
Visiting family on the birth of your first grandson.
Having your wisdom teeth removed.
Your monthly open-mic poetry reading.
Out of an abundance of caution, we have cancelled:
Your painting lesson.
Haiku group meetings.
Your barbershop appointment.
Your spring break road trip.
Your family business.
Out of an abundance of caution, we have cancelled:
Dinner at your favourite restaurant.
All restaurants bookings.
Your dental cleaning.
Next week’s public lecture.
College classes.
Out of an abundance of caution, we have cancelled:
Zoo visits.
Elevator rides up the Space Needle and the Eiffel Tower.
Your side gigs.
The workshop you were going to give, the one you were going to take.
All library visits.
Out of an abundance of caution, we have cancelled:
Jazz night.
Your usual bus route.
Tourist attraction visits.
Dance club soirees.
Your art show opening.
Out of an abundance of caution, we have cancelled:
Contentment.
The Oregon Shakespeare festival.
Your nonessential medical checkup.
Viewing the cherry blossoms.
The Olympics.
Out of an abundance of caution, we have cancelled:
Day care.
Going out of the house except for groceries and pharmacy runs.
Barbecues and tailgate parties.
Coffee with the girls.
Your therapy appointment.
Out of an abundance of caution, we have cancelled:
Hand sanitizer.
Your gym club visits.
Racquetball night.
Orchestra rehearsals.
Toilet paper.
Out of an abundance of caution, we have cancelled:
Not one thing, with help from each other, that we cannot recover from.
©2020 Michael Dylan Welch
Editor's Note: If this poem(s) moves you please consider writing to the
author (email address above) to tell her or him. You might say what it is about the poem that moves you. Writing to the author is what builds the community at Verse Virtual.
It is very important. -JL