Small craft wind advisory. Lake becomes ocean. Still becomes undone. Distraction. Etch-a-sketch. Dissolve into cement. Careful not to disturb bird sanctuary behind the boom. My resolve a mirage. Wind does its rippling as wind often does. Lake contained for the most part. Boat too small for the weight of me. Sounds of sadness drop soft.
I stare wall-eyed. A man stoops on the sidewalk outside our corner liquor store. Spare change? “Sorry.” (my standard answer) CNBC squawks on about moral hazard. Dodges income inequality. Virus pricing. Wally & I walk away with two-twenty dollar bottles of liquid protection. The uneven-ness of it all not lost on (us).
Cut t-shirt. Bombay blue. Folded into length long enough to cover face. See CDC. Short enough to fold below ears. Rubber band is glue shielding me from calamity. Cut another one. Black. Calvin Klein repurposed. Underarm pocket cut free. No need for extra material holding inhales & exhales clotted with fog.
Invasion (of). Body snatchers. An elderly woman. Large trash bag wrapped around her head shopping. Is she breathing? Corona tessellation six apart. Common sense. We’re waiting for it to reappear. April fools, twenty twenty.
Note. Us.
Double bottom. Six million. Unemployed. We’re leaking (out). Whose body? Whose bag? Times up.
I am neither creole nor a juju practitioner. But I keep a laminated prayer binder-clipped to my notes. “benevolent Marie Laveau, who draws her strength from the Loas, i trust in your protecting love & strengthening power. in your kindness, give me the fortitude to confront the misfortunes i meet & the strength to overcome …
Soap. Nothing to lose. Maybe there’s a poem in hear.