poem: louise zimmerman
pandemic
meeting in small groups
outdoors
masked waiters
serve socially distanced drinks and appetizers
which somehow feels special
with heat lamps to keep us warm
we bring blankets
quietly exchanging ideas for survival
meeting - hugless - touchless
carefully accounting
underneath the scent of hand sanitizer
or propane
lingering in the air
we sit apart in the brisk wind
enjoying a sliver of closeness
- and still I miss the salt.
about the author: louise zimmerman
mom, engineer, poet, musician
