In the Middle of This Time

I read that poetry will not be quiet, so I am writing my heart without false glibnesss. But with hope! One can be a hermit and should be In the city of black and white, Groceries are delivered, masks cover faces, Yonder is a neighbor, hey, Out of town children stay there and We laughingly say “Thank God for Ma Bell.” Toenails grow and hair unshaped, Ordering is not a splurge, nor is to be sanitized. As for me I have been to my church the last, No longer to see the carvings to crave and inspire, No longer to hear the music live, For in the meantime, church is on the lawn, In the meantime, too, I am too old to praise on the grass. Little children miss their eggs and little parties we knew And electronics with pretty heads speak for us, “Speak cheer, the bad won’t last. ’The innocent world will return.” Someday.