HPN

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Poetry of Issue #8        Page 26

Relationships, Spring 2020

I have grown to know your
screen persona
intimately
in these months of viral siege.
I know your nose, your pimpled chin,
your dimpled smile,
the books and plastic penguins
on the shelves behind
your wrinkled frown,
and your strangled gasps
of fascination
but
I know nothing of your
weight or height,
nor how you walk,
nor whether you smell of heather,
garlic,
or the reek of a week without a shower.
Are you wearing pants? Or kilts?
Or anything at all
beneath the pixel portrait
I know so well?
I do not really care
for these trifles have no meaning
for relationships
consummated amidst the virus.

Sam Friedman