• Annus Horribilis

    Human intercourse ended Late twenty-nineteen With me (on Zoom) sipping ovaltine – Masked, gloved, all plans amended And fourteen days in quarantine. Up to then there’d only been An awkward sort of hug, A caress met with a shrug, Faire la bise? (she wasn’t keen) Not on this ugly mug. Then all at once, that virus bit: The whole world turned to stone, She found herself alone Coughing, gagging, sweat and spit, Then, chilled nastily to the bone. So life was never better than Early twenty-nineteen Together, in-person, somewhat keen Before conversation was completely banned And I

  • First the Pestilence, Now the Fire

    Two weeks ago, we woke up to bedlam, a cacophony of emergency alerts. And then, not long afterwards, notification that schools were being evacuated, and then being told to evacuate the house. A mad fumbling. Clothes stuffed into bags, a lunge for precious photo albums and hard drives. Annoyed confused children ushered out to face a sepia-tinted sky, hot Santa Ana winds, the awful charcoal air.   What is there on the horizon is not a sunrise…