(copyright Roy P. Livingston, 4/15/2020)
men tell no tales and pass no virus,
And so I hide among the tombstones
From living humans who would infect me.
Six feet down and dead is safer
Than six feet sideways and alive!
caretaker laughs at me as I sprint by
For my daily exercise, because I pause
And pretend to honor some deceased stranger.
The dead need not dissemble so.
They are just planted seeds that failed to grow.
cherry trees do blossom here
In a riot of bright pink against the light blue sky,
And two gorgeous women run towards me now,
Spritely spirits of the departed,
Defying some personal pandemic that struck each down.
wink and run with me and invite me
To picnic with them beneath those cherry trees!
Oh, infect me with your youth and loveliness, I think!
But they would really take me six feet down and dead,
Not nearly so much fun. Yo, ho, ho and a bottle of rum.