By Ron Pickett

No, I’m not talking about a relationship,
I’m not talking about the end of the world or even a movie.
I’m not talking about Trump or riots or racism.
I’m not talking about dessert or dinner or a nap.
I’m not even talking about a book or story or football game.
It was simple, a young woman in the Garden store,
In the checkout area, she was down on her hands and knees,
With a scraper, taking up the social distancing tape.  
I took her picture – she objected. I didn’t care this was history in the making.
This goes into my Kennedy assassination memory drawer, my first solo, birth of my first child. And
 others that I can bring up to re-savor.
I thought this tape should be collected and turned into a monument, a painting.
Sold in gift shops, saved for children and grandchildren, placed in time capsule.
Like pieces of the Berlin Wall or bits of dust from the moon – if we really went there.
I’ve had the virus – no I don’t know how I got it – I certainly didn’t go out to try to get a natural
 immunity.
I was fatigued, had no appetite – no I didn’t lose my senses of taste or smell.
Didn’t have much of a fever if any at all.
Did have trouble with my balance and I did have visual hallucinations.
They, the hallucinations were fun. Entertaining and I‘m glad I knew what they were.
Like to be able to turn them on and off – but I don’t think the substances to do that are on the shelves at
 CVS.
I’ve had the vaccine, both shots, Pfizer, I have the card in my wallet.
I’m a walking test site but I’m too old to donate my hard-won antibodies and t-cells.
I am collecting masking tape, let me know if you have some.
There is plenty of off-white and blue. I need some red and yellow to produce a vital, reminiscent
 reminder of the “Winter of Darkness.”
Oh, it’s going to have a mask, D3, incorporated into the design.
I’m aiming for MOMA.

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