Here’s the pitch, it’s low,
Ball four. The next batter
Is awaiting his test results.
The game will resume
Intermittently.
I am feeling average about it all. I saw an angry person spit in the face of an elderly woman who asked him to wear a mask. Outside, naked people slept peaceful in the street.
Outside at night on blower-swept sidewalks
Are men in camouflage
Who didn’t come from anywhere
And aren’t about to leave.
Outside, ball four again.
The bases are loaded.
Tomorrow’s starter is running
Figure eights in the outfield,
Idle as a tanker
Full of yesterday’s fuel.
In light of recent events
The throw home is
Not in time. Sorry,
I am still building up
My arm strength. I am
Inoculating. I am
Tree-hugging manhole covers,
Getting to know their names.
How about this:
We all went on a trip together,
We all got sick. We sent home
Prescriptions by
Postcard. A storm
Popped up, the
Thunder
Its breathing.
I have fallen asleep
With an ice pack
On my broken heart.
The frostbite will kill
The infection but They say
I might never love again.
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We will even
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An email
On your birthday!
Un-mask, un-bread,
Say you’re sorry and
Mean it. Maybe the
Meteor that killed
The dinosaurs
Was really meant
For us.
And it was the dinosaurs
Who should have been
Wearing masks.
Stand here, no here.
Knock nicely.
Wait for your number
To be called.
Ninth planet,
Black hole,
All pandemics
Are local.
Today we failed to find
Either borax or pumpkin.
She asks if it is OK if
She does her exercises in front
Of the TV. I,
I am watching baseball
And juggling dynasties
Of dirty words.
Outside, the sky’s
Mask is dangling
From its one good ear.
The Writing of John B. Randall 