Ed Kirkpatrick, Don't Breathe On Me
Don’t Breathe On Me
Chorus:
Wash your hands,
And pass the sanitizer
Wear nitrile gloves,
And give air hugs.
Don’t breathe on me
Don’t breathe on me
I’m not six feet under yet my friend,
And I’m not pushing up daisys.
I stay six feet apart,
But not, from my Katie. (Chorus)
This Covid-19 is making me crazy,
There’s got to be more to life
Than wearing N-95
Am I dreaming this all up (chorus)
Are there more than 25,
Sitting in this small space?
Please don’t sneeze,
Don’t touch your face. (Chorus)
I might be six feet above,
But that’s when I’m happy.
Stay six feet apart
I stay six feet apart
Wash your hands,
And pass the sanitizer.
Wear nitrile gloves,
And give air hugs.
Don’t breathe on me
Don’t breathe on me
Alex Komives, Release
Release
My thin arrowed gait across the driveway,
provoked by lure of sidewalk’s open bend
to elsewhere-away-from-here, was deflected
by shielded certitude of nearby corners
discharging metronomic bursts of dog walkers
and wall scrammers once foot’s flight
departed home ground. Frustrated. Returned.
I repeated my outward assault only to revisit
the doorstep. Back and forth, I stitched
air with caged velocity until my notice
chanced upward a confident stretch
of altocumulus, potholed with blue whispers
of beyond, and recalling yesterday’s moon
retasked my torqued spirit to a search
and rescue. My eyes growing frantic
rummaged the high billowed mesh for
glimpse of waxing gibbous form. And then,
as if answer, an unfinished orb tore
clear an instant to toss a wink. Quickly
clouds recovered, but it was enough.
Comfort stood and
I was stilled.
