A Corona Evening

You hug your children,
wishing you didn't have to
explain to them why
the world is cruel sometimes.
You grab your jacket,
pull up your hair and wear
a face mask, put on gloves,
check your alcohol bottle and
throw it in your bag.

You step outside, looking
right and left. If only you remembered
to buy eggs before. Where
are you going to find eggs now?
The street is empty of human warmth.
The wind has a strange, ominous voice.
You walk. To your right, an abandoned
park with weary benches. Are
they still feeding the ducks? Are
kids going to run and jump and
chase birds there, any time soon?
To your left, an insomniac hospital,
with ready ambulances.

A cop interrupts your sadness.
"Why are you outside of
your house, ma'am?" Your kids
are hungry, that's why. "Please go
back home, ma'am. It's not
safe. A few volunteers will distribute
food to the houses tomorrow. Ma'am,
can you hear me?"

You nod, take a step back and
think of a way to convince your starving
darlings that bread alone is a meal.