The Quarantine Chronicles, Day 30

DAY 30: Who, who out there, who

in here, in our apartment

building, of eighteen families, who

is having trouble eating, no nutrition 
in hot air and proclamations, after

losing a job or never having one,

who, who goes hungry today? The 
teachers and cops and retirees and 
doctors are okay, they get paid, poor people 
with an extended family are okay, they share,

it is the Eleanor Rigbys, the Father

McKenzies that sit alone with

the TV on and a bowl of pastina

in broth, before getting undressed

for bed at nine, their gray hair roots

showing, they say their prayers then

mid-morning they call both

their friends each day like clockwork

until they get: "I can't talk right

now. I'll call you back." When

the feverish wheezing starts they might

call a neighbor -- maybe us -- or an

ambulance, get a swab from a friendly 
physician, wait for the results in bed, days 
pass -- COVID DAYS -- wondering how they 
got the novel coronavirus if they never went out

except to the grocer and pharmacy.

Then they get hallucinations of life

on a farm, a beautiful child-

hood of play and adventure

that they never had, running

through fields of flowers, the

sweet smell overwhelming.