the whine of the isolated privileged

and lo,
the earth did heave beneath the weight and strain
of a billion, billion people that it could not contain
to a point that, with a great exhale
it did slow down time and send each creature
into imobile, self-contained social distancing
until it felt as if a great and necessary Sabbath had descended…

i fucking hate Sabbath!

who knew the scurrying crowds were so necessary
to keep my chaos mind ablaze and green with growth;
those people i would watch in their midst but afar
only from afar now to a point where there seems
no point
no desert father i,
no self-appointed or otherwise cast out Saint John…
just a friendly misanthrope needing nearness;
i will keep my distance with headphones and stern looks
thank you very much

i am Jane Goodall cast away from her adoptive clan
and told to “make it work” from her home office –
a safe distance in London from west Africa
where i can forgage amongst the Doritos and Ding Dongs
eating my feelings until the last trumpet sounds
and all doors
and all windows
are torn from their casements
announcing a final Year of Jubilee

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