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Poetry of Issue #8        Page 85


Late on a cold and windy afternoon
snow still in the air trees
still bare the time of the plague
after a long day at work staring
at the computer a month on
under lockdown the new sensation
face masks and enforced seclusion
I understand now the songs my father sang
only to himself under his breath
why he was afraid
felt the chill all year long
why he stopped going to memorials
my age moves across me like
the edge of dark on the Earth
from space you can’t tell
what we have done the destruction
the species disappearing before I knew
they were even here
the tired senselessness of it all
the coming dark the silent cold
massive moon lights the empty yard
I forgot why I was singing
“happy birthday” two times

  Gregg Weatherby