JC’s new poem for the times, from a bleak place

COUNTING

First the children, immune to this assault,
their coughs and sneezes innocent for now.
Then their parents, our children —
not in the crosshairs, but still…

These tykes, their dads & moms feel well,
grateful for no symptoms, yet wide-aware
every breath’s a timebomb tick
if they’re carriers.

We, the elders/the old, keep distant, weave
sorry days around, away from those we love.
Cloistered, anxious, tethered to a hope for health,
we hold no expectation of normal.

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