Covid
Waiting in lines galore. It is no fun to go to the store.
The rules change every week, if not daily as the virus piques.
It’s not only frustrating or aggravating. It is out of self preservation that we battle the lines to hunt for food. While the essential worker must battle another front line.
Sickness and covid complications loom in the air and, yet there is no fresh batch to relieve them from their dedication to the cause.
Only endless pain of seeing more of the same. Our hands are tied or so we feel. Now even the hug, the human touch, has now become too much. It feels strange the embrace, like the handshake has become a foreign custom that we question and hesitate to return.
‘The rules change every week’ is my favorite line though the entire poem is relatable. well done ^^