Song for March invocation

Now the bus ride in becomes a daily pattern, the look of the store fronts as we get into town. The growing bits of scrap and rubble surrounding the homeless camps. The awareness of how different it is here than in my neighborhood in the suburbs. Off the bus and onto the street, pigeons picking at puke on the sidewalk. People in masks, everything I touch feels unclean. Part of me wants to just get it so I don’t have to worry about it anymore. Tuning out on the ride home, enjoying the half hour it takes to get out of town and over the lake through the stops. They used to take trains from here into Seattle to get mail and supplies. They had to worry about Indians. What do we have to worry about, really? How much is really in our control. The bus driver wears a mask and looks anonymous but waves back when I say thanks, and pull the chord.

Categories: Memoir, prose, writing

Tags: , , , , , ,

10 replies

  1. So you have contemporized your writings with the talk of the world-town. Appreciate your right thoughts at the right time. Obviously, the masks are in short supply. Rather, they are in high, excessively high demand.

    Liked by 1 person

    • World town! Good phrase, more meaningful at times like this when we’re reminded how much we have in common right?! Thank you for this Keshav, and greetings to you and yours! Bill

      Liked by 1 person

  2. A Journal of The Plague Year.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. You at your most dystopian. I like it.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. I’m not looking forward to being ground zero. I totally get your desire to get it and be done with it.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. There are things I remember reading about in National Geographic and Time decades ago: anti-biotic resistant bacterias, pandemics and global warming among them. And here we are. UGH. Life is pretty complicated sometimes. Take care of yourself Bill.

    Liked by 1 person

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