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.