The Inglorious Triumph of Selfishness
Night descends upon this city
Accosted by a disease
Now holding us hostage.
I mourn the congregations
While roaming these deserted streets,
Moving in and out of each
Neighborhood like hospital rooms
And peeping through windows at
The screens televising this pandemic.
It's been an unholy week;
Death lurks in the spaces between us.
An elderly couple out walking
Seals their fate by holding hands.
I am agent of death
Being outside like this, for
I have touched the sick
And am therefore myself sick.
A man has asked me what time it is;
It's time for me to go home.