yellow fever

you wake up early
covered in a silky
sheet of yellow
dust. you shower
then go
outside to shovel
the pollen off
your sidewalk.
you hose it off
the black car,
that you swore you'd
never get again.
people are bent
over sneezing, coughing,
gagging. they are
wearing surgical
masks, their red
eyes tearing
down their cheeks.
birds over head
are flying by,
clearing their throats.
you spit and wave
to your neighbor,
saying good morning
in a gravelly voice.
off to the drugstore,
she asks, scratching
her neck, rubbing
her eyeballs
with her fists?
yes, you say.
pick you up
anything, and she
hands you a twenty
and a list.