The dance of dragonflies enchants me.
When I become stressed out
I return to them.
During a time of pandemic
all paths walked are trails of tears.
The enemy microscopic soldiers
commit an insidious blue violence.
As much as I try not to judge
there comes a point
when I am too pissed off not to.
And I must restrain myself
from beating the shit out of the deniers.
Contact tracing informed me
a belligerent mask-less man in my grocery
tested positive and asymptomatic
in the hour I purchased
the season’s first peaches.
I howled for that man to be charged
with reckless endangerment,
for him to pay for my covid testing
and hospitalization if it occurred.
And if I died, to up the charge to manslaughter.
I spent the rest of the day
at the edge of the pond with dragonflies
dancing in front of my sofa.
copyright © 2020 Kenneth P. Gurney
This is a fiction designed to provide space for my frustration with people who flaunt the mask wearing orders of our governor. They are quite vocal and belligerent the few times I’ve happened upon them being denied entry into grocery stores and home improvement big box stores.