Surefire: A Poem

This piece came to me as I was walking my dog one morning. What follows is an observational free-verse “poem.”  It is what it is.

A bird lies lifeless on a front lawn, revealed only by the melting snow

And a surefire way to die is talking to a stranger

And baby is standing at the front door in a lime green tutu, screaming out to anyone who’ll listen

And mommy stands on the back porch hacking up a lung and flicking a butt onto the grass

And boy is riding his bicycle in the street, trying hopelessly to land the same trick over and over

And dad drags in the trash bins the second they’re emptied

And a surefire way to die is at the supermarket

And the cashiers betwixt their plexiglass and shower curtains wince beneath their masks at the careless customers

And the customers pace the aisles, willfully ignoring the floor’s guidance

And liquor store is a circus

And a surefire way to die is in a restaurant

And the waiters wait nervously on tables of maskless gluttons

And the diners stuff their gullets with food, oh isn’t this just like it used to be

And a surefire way to die is outside

But I’ve made a distant friend, and that’s my year