dear diary, thank you dr. fauci

i remember

writing in my diary during the covid

shut down

a thankful note to the head

of NIH.

thank you dr. Fauci

for 

helping to create this pandemic,

releasing

a manipulated

bat virus into the world by

funding the sloppy research

at the Wuhan Lab

in China.

thank you

thank you 

thank you.

it's gotten me out of so many

things

that i didn't want to do.

like visiting my in-laws

for the holidays and birthdays,

or going to the DMV,

no more visits to the dentist

for cleaning

and x-rays,

no colonoscopy this year.

no more attending my son's soccer

games at school.

no trips to the barbershop,

or grocery store,

with free delivery.

how easy it was to skip work,

or come in late,

or not at all.

thank you for getting me out

of my friend's

yearly back yard vegan

pool party

where all his children peed in the water,

and the grill

grilled no meat.

no more obligatory attendance

to church,

or the book club,

or doing Tai Chi in the park.

it was a wonderful

stretch of two years or so.

thank you doctor,

thank you.

what's next up your rolled up

sleeve,

a new and improved,

tenth booster shot vaccine?

still tattoo free

dissatisfied with the art

on the walls,

where the pictures hang,

i'm always moving

things around,

buying something new,

a landscape,

a portrait, perhaps an

abstract painting,

splashed 

with orange and blue.

it's an easy afternoon,

of taking art down,

removing the old for

something new.

i'm continually

changing things up.

it makes me realize that

i was never born to have

a tattoo.

whoops, again

it's the tug

of the ear, 

a strand of hair, the scratch

on the nose,

the shifting in her seat,

the tapping

shoe.

all signs that she's not

telling

the truth.

her eyes can't meet

yours.

you're in trouble,

aren't you?

for some crazy reason

you've signed

a government

document stating forever

and ever,

you've even put a ring 

on her hand.

the late night movie

it's a black and white

movie

at three a.m., it's almost 

morning, but

you stick with it,

because you want to see

what life was like

in the 50's and 60's in

New York City.

the cars, the city streets,

the hats

men wore,

how the women were

natural

and pretty.

it's the music too,

the politeness and

courtesy,

the corner grocer, the boys

playing stick ball

in the street.

the open hydrant

in July.

the fire escapes hanging

down.

neighbors with their

windows open, laundry

strung out

from side to side.

the front porch was where

you learned

nearly everything about life.

the paper boys, the milk man.

the girl

next door. the cop on his

beat, walking by.

maybe none of it was real,

perhaps, but you'd like

to believe that

i wasn't just a movie,

the watermelon seed

as the summer

slips

through your hands like

a black wet

seed

from the ripe red

melon,

you realize that you

can't stop

what's coming,

and that applies to almost

everything.