EL BANDIDO

I can’t breathe

white cloths on blank faces

inhale deeply and wait . . .

Exhale and hope

don’t stand so close to me

repeats in my mind.

Nothing to do with Sting.

Inhale and hold while passing.

Exhale sharply

anxious desire to breathe deep

germs converging like a black mass.

Raspy, shallow attempts at an involuntary function.

Contaminated strangers

dressed as bandits

held up by a molecule

I still can’t breathe

continuum of cloth flesh

bubbles of personal disinfected space

Six apart

Six deep

Six feet under.

(First appearance at jerryjazzmusician.com 2021)