But, in Florida, day one:
folks leaving the last party,
returning home to wash
sand from their sun-
diminished heads.
They are like the legend
of soldiers still fighting
World War II from isolation
of their island jungle:
don’t realize they’ve lost,
carried defeat like shame
too long. On the news,
I hear that Florida’s governor
exempted religious services
from the prohibition
on public gatherings.
Goddamn it, Florida,
why do you always
fuck things up
like that one kid in class
who forgets to bring a pencil
to the most important test
of his young life?
My dad will go,
despite his age, diabetes,
recent cancer treatment.
He was as stubborn as Florida
long before he moved there.
Several states away,
I’m hunched over a notebook,
which has been my church,
attempting to figure out
how to say I won’t
see my father alive again.
2 Responses
Damn. You sure can open eyes. I’m sorry about the situation.
You nailed it. I really feel the terrible predicament.