The Madness of 2020

I fold between blankets like a broken accordion. No more music in this darkened room– my own cacophony pierces this throbbing skull. I imagine my life becoming more like the acid trip my dad once described to me, slipping in and out of my doctor’s prescription bottle of the week and all the pretty bottles in a row. If I squint through tears, I can see a hazy garden of marigolds. My laughter, warped and weary, even hurts inside this madness. Distant voices split time - a scientist on t.v. talks about origins of this disease. The president blames the Chinese, scientists blame the bats. I blame no one, not even my foolish neighbors with their karaoke street parties. I’m tired of this hot, new show called the blame game. I have my own recycled show, the worried mother. (Wash your hands again, don’t forget your mask, and above all else, please social distance) Stay tuned! Anxiety swells in my chest and rises up to beat against my skull. No escape - wild horses gallop down cerebral highways trying to reach the shoreline where all the beautiful people cackle, mouths uncovered, droplets mingling with the ocean’s spray. I do not fear the avant-garde colors flashing peripherally, the pounding beats behind my eyes, or death itself. I do fear dying alone behind a mask. Written 5/22/20 for Craig’s 2020 Poetry Contest