Awaiting Quarantine
Six feet apart, our hands cannot meet.
Behind prison walls, it seems, we greet.
Faces are veiled in surgeon masks, afraid,
within one's own stale breath stayed.
Walling off every suspect unknown,
we're isolated, and yet not alone.
In breaking news... another onset.
Another's breath, an open threat.
Await the countdown to lockdown...
Inhale the last fresh breaths of your town.
With outlook of terror, perception ill-fated,
although not alone, we become isolated.
3-16-2020
Copyright © Juliet Ligon | Year Posted 2020
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