In Times of Separation

 
 
There’s a scent of storm as I walk  
past ev’ry shop in town shut tight.  
I wear a handmade mask that was  
given to me from my sister.  
 
I’m carrying a small sack lunch  
with a sandwich that I have made  
for a shut-in, she’s my new friend  
I should’ve called her first I guess.  
 
I’ll find a key under the mat,  
but now it’s getting cold outside.  
I hope she likes grilled colby-jack  
with sprouts on toasted Russian rye.  
 
The key’s not here it’s getting dark  
I’ll hurry, better head back home.  
I take a shortcut through the park  
to sit and eat the lunch alone.  
 
I trace a po’em in the dirt  
before it starts to rain.  
Then after, it will disappear  
like any other stain.