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.