Delivery

The model 

scientists seem to like best 

looks like ping pong balls 

on a ship’s open deck,

even in conditions 

like new glass 

with no wind

the points 

will meet, 

trade space 

with someone’s friends

and my friends

who have to deliver everything 

that gets delivered

and would give anything

for what others call lonely, 

call going crazy, 

alone, 

in our homes. 

You

do you, 

no one is innocent.

I am not innocent, I try 

to get everything 

I can for myself, 

not ask

someone to do

what I wouldn’t 

in a system that hasn’t 

lost the need 

for people 

to move things, yet, 

there are friends 

and families at home

behind the people

bringing everything

to everyone,

and choices between

more 

and less love,

though nothing feels right, 

this feels like it’s usually

the right way to feel

right now. 

Delivery, blood (pastel on construction paper, April 19, 2020)