Monday, May 11, 2020


In this spring of rising and declining temperatures
this morning, fog blocks the view from the back
door, rivulets form on garage window, drop, streak
window pane. Dead dogwood drips onto saturated
grass, garden. Though the songbirds have shared
their songs since early morning there is something
not quite right.

The constant beat of tires on the avenue have silenced
sidewalks are empty of school students, an occasional
dog walker passes by, yellow school buses both big and
small have been quarantined, lights no longer flash in early
morning light. Commuter stations, bus stops are empty
neighbors wave at each other from closed windows.

As the temperature rises and falls we await the flat line of
the ever rising curve of what may pay visitation upon us
or pass us by. There is a sigh of relief from the homes on
this sycamore lined street each time the red strobe lights
of an ambulance pass by without making a stop.

--ge reutter

g emil reutter is a writer of poems and stories. He can be found at: 

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