I have worked hard
to feel something
that resides below
the rage and wreckage
of this pandemic year.
I know what it means
to wake each morning
and wonder if today
my luck runs out
in a madcap state
in a war of wills
amid the discarding
of the concept
the public good.
So few today believe
they owe our country
for our decades of peace
and prosperity—
except in war.
As the air grows cold
and flurries fall
every sneeze and cough
sends minor tremors
through my spine
and worries me
until my breath clears.
The isolation
creates an aloneness,
which is different
than loneliness.
This solitude
has spawned
an unfamiliar
feeling for which
I reach about
for a name.
copyright © 2020 Kenneth P. Gurney
Umflop 