Asymptomatic: A Stuck Inside Poem, Day 10

You know in alien movies

when the whole human race

is about to get obliterated

but right before the people go extinct

they come together and unite

to fight against a common enemy?

I’m not sure that is happening with social distancing.

When our ecosystems of information

are uniquely tailored to meet our buying habits,

haven’t we created a little too much distance

between us and the common good?

I would love to go back in time and play

kick the can with the kids in my neighborhood.

You ever pretend you’re flying?

You ever fly your pretends?

Do airplanes ever get lost? Does the pilot

ever look out the window of the cockpit

and think, naw, something is not right here?

I’ve flown this way a hundred times

and never known clouds like these before.

Probably oughta retrace my steps. 

Think I missed an exit.

It’s been eighteen days since

I had dinner with my parents

in South Carolina. 

If I gave them the virus, they

were either asymptomatic

and the sickness already passed

or I wasn’t infected to begin with.

When I left New Orleans

everything was fine. When I returned,

I learned my city was boarded up.

Nobody saw this coming.  Or some did, sort of.

And if we did, we were misinformed enough

to le bon temps roule our way

into the national spotlight again.

Maybe this is coming from the inside

looking out, but we should’ve canceled

Mardi Gras seems like a driver blaming

the car for the destination.

Hella heavy victim blaming

vibes wafting off that logic. 

Like somehow it’s our fault. We don’t

Mardi Gras alone. Y’all come here to catch beads

then discard them in our catch basins. 

We’re the ones paying for flooded cars

when the heavy rains hit after you leave.

Just because you got gonorrhea

on Bourbon Street

doesn’t mean we gave it to you.

That’s called lagniappe.

You’re supposed to be grateful. 

All you need is love. Well, love

and antibiotics, but mostly love.