Not from
too tight masks or
12 hour shifts,
Watching loved ones
Lost, and those that survive them
folding into themselves, falling further
down along with the millions of others
swamped with fear, not cash,
when cash seems to be
the only thing that guarantees you
A simple test.
I sit and weep for
my friends, my routine, my city, my life
before,
with a roof over my head,
money in the bank,
face uncreased from an n-95.
My sadness is not wrong ,
but it doesn’t feel right.
My eyes sting at this discomfort, too.
by me, a wannabe Harper Lee
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