Summer of Death

Self-portrait  (photo/Jan Barry)

By Jan Barry

Summer of Death 

Summer of my 77^th year

The gear for us ancients to wear

Is face masks—

I live surrounded by death

From invisible corona virus spittle,

Which has decimated nursing homes

In spring-lush suburbs—

The veterans home in Paramus

Was particularly hard hit,

But also the town where I live—

Is it safe to go for a walk?

To the food store?

The post office?

To visit my son

Who works in a supermarket?

Dare I go to the VA

For a doctor’s appointment?

What a life—

To have to consider virus risks

Just going out of the house—

Remember to take a face mask

On a walk around the block—

And what should I do if classes

Resume on campus in the fall?

I hear that nurses have PTSD

From trying to cope with so many COVID cases—

Now I’m getting more PTSD on top of old PTSD

Just thinking about all the virus risks

Memorial Day 2020

Bury ‘em six feet deep

Or stand six feet apart—

Clutch your heart,

Adjust your face mask—

Memorial Day is very

Different this year—

COVID deaths surpassed

War dead in weeks—

Body bags stacked

In corridors, backs of trucks,

Hastily bulldozed graves—

Never such a death storm

Since World War Two—

Casualties in Korea, Vietnam, Iraq,

Afghanistan topped in three months—

Shouldn’t we fly

The flags at half-mast—

Display gold stars in the windows

Of those so suddenly lost?

Obits jammed into newspapers—

So many lives snuffed out

Like candles at a nursing home

Birthday party—

Can you count them all--

Blazing in their 20s, 30s, 40s,

50s, 60s, 70s—

Virus sweeping through

Veterans’ homes

Like silent machinegun fire—

May Day, May Day!

The high flying life is crashing—

Fly overs by war planes

Won’t raise the dead, the dying—