I sweep lacebark elm’s debris
from front steps & stoop
a daily June routine, yet this morn
I do not linger on the porch
but retreat & wait for my contactless
grocery delivery by Thomas
Sammie, Parham or Michel
to name just a few of the ones
I no longer can get close to – for now.
Inside I hear ‘George Floyd!’
reverberating still, damn police
brutality, then receive word
of another fated to infinite distancing –
Steve S. Class of ’68, whose wit
welcomed me to a new school but
could not outwit COVID-19. Damn.