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 Mar 2020
Francie Lynch
I sneezed into my elbow
At the grocery store;
All who were present turned,
Gasped and hit the floor,
As though I'd shot a gun.

I coughed in my elbow
While I was walking home;
The sidewalk cleared across the street,
As though I'd dropped a bomb.

While I was at my bank,
Four masked men pushed through the door.
No one notices anymore.
 Mar 2020
Francie Lynch
In the North we had the cold war. Sirens screamed; we crouched under desks, thin arms covering thinner heads. We were post Pompeii petrifies waiting for a future dig. We never left an atomic shadow.
This  sums up all life-threatening fears of the Boomers, the Echoes, the A's through Z's. Of course, Boomers then were too young to worry.

We've never had planes or bombs fall from our skies (there was the Arrow disaster).
We've never had a crop blight, famine or drought.
Food has never been rationed.
Hurricanes, cyclones, typhoons or tornados don't happen here;
We get snowfalls we plow through till they melt.
We're non-tsunami. Flooding is seasonal, geographically isolated, and dealt with.
We've had no great fires or earthquakes like San Fran or London.
We've never been drafted, and only go to wars of our own choosing.
We have not been invaded or occupied;
P.E.I. has no extermination crematoriums.
We avoided Inquisitions, Salem witch hunts and Small Pox blankets.
We've had no Race Riots, but a few barricades have gone up and down.

Death comes to us as to all. Car accidents, dumb-*** accidents, and even ******. Though never expected, always anticipated. We grieve, some longer than others. It's not easy, but we manage the shock.

When the glaciers glide past the coast of Nova Scotia, on the way to New York, my generation (and probably yours) will have been replaced.

But now! We're asked to Social Distance and wash with soap and water. In Canada we have plenty of both. I'll occupy my three square feet of space for several weeks (knowing there are only 52 in a year). No complaints. No asinine TP runs. Just behaving myself, HUMANELY.
my generation: Anyone born after 1945 in The North, Canada.
 Mar 2020
Francie Lynch
Good people pray for you.
Lend you a hand.
Attest for you.

Bad people prey on you.
Lay their paws on you.
Detest you.

It may take time to rise from this nightmare.
It's not something we ate,
Or something forced down our collective throats,
Like Kool-Aide.
Soon, we'll start the real body count,
And when all this ends,
It will begin again,
And the circle is unbroken.
"It's always something." Roseanne Rosanna Danna.
 Mar 2020
Mohd Arshad
I get relief in the house of God
Or in your arms!
 Mar 2020
Francie Lynch
I have attended non-events.
Stood on the curb,
But no parade marched by.
I have cheered from the bleachers
But no team ran out.
I have entered the Church,
Only to smell the lingering incense.
This time,
I will fill in the empty box
To banish the void.
Humanity is the event.
 Mar 2020
Francie Lynch
I would find the rainbow's end
To reclaim lost treasures
That went missing over my many years.

Some, mere sparkle a crow might crave;
Others, minor shadows in Plato's cave.
In some kind of after life,
Will I find my gold penknife?

I lost it on Easter Sunday:
Jake flashed it on John's jacket;
From nape to back bottom *****,
He sliced the new dress coat in half.
My penknife vanished,
Like the invisible mend.

I miss my pubescent chums,
When imagination was all the fun.
But really, we would look askance,
Not actually sure of a come-by-chance.

Youth got lost, slipped off my face;
I got distracted, it got replaced.

Friends and family have gone,
And with them took
Their share of treasures.

Should you, my dears,
Be lost, I will find you,
Everywhere.
In albums, jewelry boxes,
Closets and cushions.
I'll search the last place first.
My two older brothers. The three of us got the knives for delivering papers.
================================
While going you ask me, May I go
Now you tell me, What should I reply?
Seeing you going, I feel like the fire of
My own lamp is burning my home, I'm shocked.

Some may recite a sad song or play on flute
But now my own mind does not belong to body
As your spirit do not own your body, but
Wasting water on a withered plant in the backyard

Just think the loneliness of the deserted journey
No partner in another way in the hot sand of weeds
There is no noise, but it is very difficult for the bird to fly
That a sun can hide in the sun in the burning sky

Life is not the same when you see the mirror alone
The veil lifts and you go away with the fast breeze
and the flesh of young fruits prompt to the breast
Now you do not even support yourself to as water in palm

I know many stories and tales of Laila Majnoo, Heer Raanjha
But, when dude is in the aspect, so, where to find the moon
I wanted to swim with you in an ocean of unlimited abundance
Not swimming in swimming pool, what is kept in river or ponds

Have you thought anything about your better half before going
It seems as you have deprived me of my light, lamp and oil of life

Written by
~~~Jawahar Gupta~~~
 Mar 2020
Francie Lynch
The Receptionist's counter is too close to the forever waiting room.
The Nexts are trying their patient penances;
Some seem to read;
Others appear to listen to the television;
There's no dialogue,
Except for the Dr.'s assistant,
And, the Receptionist.
Any conversation would be idle,  and not heard anyway.
They sit on pins, listening for their names.
Super Tuesday held no kryptonite for Super Joe, remarked the talking head.

The Dr. will see you in three years.
I fist pump and spin to leave,
Seeing a blur of corralled, bowed, preoccupied heads.
A frail face lifted up, and smiled for me.
Happy for me.
Truly the best medicine.
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