Dismal Toast
Here’s to the docs and the nurses, the cops and the medics
The cashiers and the clerks and the factory workers
Here’s to the transporters, the cleaners and the therapists
Here’s to those who pull up their bandanas as they pass
Here’s to those who hand us change behind the plexiglass
Here’s to the pickers and the packers, the unpaid and the unsung
To those in the food chain, from beginning to end
Here’s to everyone far and near on whom we depend
And to those who keep away from us out of love
How we’d grasp their outstretched hands but for the gloves.
And here’s to the better angels who are still on task
Let their wings still beat though their faces are masked
Let’s all raise a glass together to give them three cheers
May we embrace them too, if permission is granted, perhaps next year.
Your Six Feet, Or Mine?
We all try to stay in the zone, to stay alive
My six feet and your six feet, yet we are so alone
If, however, I feel an urge to be near
Do I dare approach? May I stay within five?
This is grand, but I must express more
Will you permit me to approach within four?
My oh my, what a novelty
Is this the way it used to be?
Do I love you? Do you love me?
The only way to test is to approach within three.
Wow, the urge is still there
So I think we must dare:
I’ve two left now, and so do you
So what in the world do we do?
Now we are close enough to touch
My nervous gloves to yours, well, that’s the start
And we are now but one foot apart.
With our masks secured, let’s bend from the waist
And exchange a kiss, breath held of course, and chaste
Let’s perfect that ancient pre-pandemic art
Love is still love without fluids exchanged.