art museum during a pandemic
they have black markings
etched into the pavement
thick like road bumps
that tell us to wear a mask
and stay six feet apart
and walk single file
we try not to trip over them
as we head toward the door
where a masked not-medical expert
is waiting to take our temperatures
if you hit 100.4 fahrenheit
you don’t get to go inside
which begs the question
who goes to an art museum with a fever?
staff recommends
that we use the steps
instead of the elevator
this angers the old people
who haven’t taken steps in years
they complain through their masks
they sound muffled and bitter
old people could find something
to complain about
during the apocalypse
which is a bit what this feels like
as there’s hardly anyone in the place
the galleries are mostly empty
but the art hangs on the wall like old friends
o’keeffe and bellows and hopper
and archibald motley jr
that whole gang you left behind in another life
it feels good to see them again
you feel almost human
of course, there’s some asshole
in green shorts and a pink polo shirt
standing in front of your favorite
stella painting of the brooklyn bridge
some things never change
he stands there examining it
like he’s an art expert
he looks like a watermelon
while the old people mill around the room
bitching about how the museum hasn’t changed
their exhibits since march
you think about how it feels
like it’s been march all year
even though in two days
it’ll be september
one long march that has lasted a lifetime
and has caused a lot of misery and death
finally watermelon man
leaves the stella painting
and you go up to it
to have a look
but there’s two old people
waiting behind you for their turn
so you take a quick look and walk away
and head toward something else
another painting
a window showing the hudson river
and new jersey
and a bright, late summer sky
that makes the day seem real
all of this seem normal
well
almost.
--John Grochalski
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