And Now It's Real
2020
Originally published in Decameron, edited by Macushla Robinson.
Published by Yonkers International Press.

A friend sends a message, and you’re glad to know they’re OK.
You berate yourself for not reaching out weeks ago,
like you said you would.

As the school closes, you think about how you told a child in January
they were more likely to be struck by lightning than catch the virus.

You say the content comes first,
then you make it look good.
Except when you waste an afternoon
thinking you’re better than your own advice.

Medium’s emails tell me
not to worry about productivity,
yet be more productive than ever.
Only now do I question the kindness of strangers.

Caution tape is loosely wrapped around the outdoor exercise equipment at Westbourne Green.
It will be pulled down before the afternoon.

Ezra Klein is answering Sean Rameswaram’s questions.
They are recording within makeshift home studios.
I can hear the sounds of his saliva.

A colleague calls,
asking if I can switch the days I’m coming in this week.
Amidst everything else, the financial year still needs to end.

When Guy Debord wrote “The true is a moment of the false”
did he imagine one day we would know what Stephen Colbert’s bathtub looks like?

Tesco has a full page ad in the Evening Standard pleading we don’t shop online
as if they didn’t help create bottlenecked supply chains.

Last May
you saw Rachel Bloom and Adam Schlesigner
perform a hybrid of “Fuck Me, Ray Bradbury” and “Stacy’s Mom”.
It was perfect.
He was 52.

A message from the NHS plays after every third song,
and you realise the NHS make a better case for Spotify Premium
than Spotify does.

People I would never expect
are indulging in social media chain letters
and I have never been more wary of the words
“Until Tomorrow”.

Carol tells me to message my mother.
“It takes nothing”, she says.
“I know it’s complex”, she says.
I agree with her.
I still do nothing.

The message on the podium changes:
Stay Home. Protect the NHS.
I wonder if the reason this happened is because the situation is now worse.

Kate suggests you look to On Kawara,
and the cold reality of numbers and statistics.
I think of how bleak the phrase "I am still alive" is.

Two art critics
and the makers of Untitled Goose Game
are having a conversation within Animal Crossing
and it’s a mess that is necessary.

The sun is shining and the park is full of people
trying to reclaim something they’ve lost
and they’re going to get this taken away from us.

You send a message;
she replies quickly.
She is OK.
She is overwhelmed.
She tries not to watch the news.
She is worried about you and Kate.

Someone posts a link advocating the UK sue China.
They use the words "bat eating human" and I feel distracted and saddened and exhausted.

Boris is in intensive care,
but he is not being supplied oxygen.
It is imperative that we understand this.
#GetWellBoris is trending.

The children are outside.
They will never understand how the sound of them playing helps me momentarily forget
how strange this all is.

It now feels obvious,
but I realise there is privilege in things being just a little bit strange
rather than your entire life being upended.

A friend posted a mix online and has asked for others.
My playlist contains songs with the words “inside” and “outside” in their titles.

Light filters through the cherry blossoms,
and I try to preserve it,
again.
Kate stands there, looking at me, smiling.
“Ready?” she asks.