Scythe

Were we fated to be here tonight,
In the slush, in the cold, face to face,
More or less, looking wanly at
Boarded-up restaurants and bars,
Empty streets; the last two people
Still out as the pandemic harvests
Humanity, so like a farmer somewhere
With a scythe who slashes through grain?
I see from your clothes that you work
In a place where the harvesting's done,
And I see from your eyes that what you've
Had to witness has shattered your spirit.
It's one thing to watch as the numbers
Are tallied and then scurry to gather
The things that you need. It's another
To tell someone's family she died.
Here we meet, in what must be the coldest
Of winters, our faces obscured, all we know
Saying, “Separate.” That's what we'll do,
Though my heart breaks to see you.
Heartbreak's now everyone's fate.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
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Written on 2021-01-30 at 12:41

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