Joshua Keiter

We know so much more than we did

In the spring when we knew nothing

Apparently certain items are hard to find again

People still have trouble covering their faces

Or determining what constitutes six feet

Really it’s mostly men who are the problem

Men have no concept of appropriate personal space

I work in customer service I should know

Just stand there I can hear you with your mask on

A mask is mandatory while you’re in the building

They’re stocking up in case we lock down again

Way too many people in the building right now

Is the air on why is it so stuffy in here

Time for another round of hygiene theatre

The only show in town for the foreseeable

These days I’m afraid
The only music
I am listening to

Puts hard won hope
In the context of
Unbearable loss

The keys float
From major to minor
Sometimes in the same phrase

But the song always resolves
Without fading away
The chord it started with is

The one that brings us home

The revelation
Of listening

To old music
Made new again

In the car on
A rainy Wednesday

A moment twenty five
Years in the making

Under appreciated
How intertwined

A song can become to
A lifetime or afternoon

Even if you know
All of the words

You don’t know
How it feels to be me

At this point it’s like
If a student asked
For an extension
On the final paper
Without having done
Any of the work
All semester long
And a week later
While still waiting
For the final paper
That it is safe to say
And to be charitable
Will never ever arrive
You find out the student
Tricked all his friends into
Burning down the campus
While you get 57 emails
In a twenty four hour span
Asking if you graded it yet

Somehow the deluge
Of headlines and tweets
Continues unabated

Each one more unhinged
And disturbing than the last
Though less consequential

We have seventy more days
To ignore the sound and fury
Signifying nothing while

The adults in the room
Are gathering the forces
Of science and facts

Which have always run our lives
Only now they will take
A prominent place at the table

And for that we say grace

There was a line of vehicles
On the turnpike carrying flags

Emblazoned with the name
Of a former candidate

In the recent campaign
They were large vehicles

Driving fast in the slow lane
Perhaps they were speeding

On the northbound side
While we drove south

The vehicles were evidently
Vacating the nation’s Capitol

As fast as they could go
So we wished them well

And forgot them as we drove on

The sound you are feeling
As the air crackles
With the understanding
Of possibilities again

Is the tangible silence
After four vaporous years
Not being able
To sit still and think

Of something besides
The bleakness of how
In the world we would ever
Get out of this mess

Now we know it is up to us
To trust that the energy
That keeps us awake
Is not the doom scrolling of time

But the sudden realization
We have so much to do
And hope is whispering
It is time for the work to begin

Dear The Media,

It’s okay
You can call it
The ratings are still huge but
You don’t need him anymore
Turns out
People actually enjoy breathing again

And besides
Think how many clicks you’ll get
When they pull him
Out of the White House
Kicking and screaming
To jail

Remember remember
The fifth of November
A day like any other day
In this most groundhog of years

The atmosphere is burning
While the still mysterious sickness spreads
And the will of millions of people
Comes down to a few thousand here or there

How fortunate to have an endpoint
Imprinted on paper somewhere to be scanned
Through machines invented by someone’s hand
That are incapable of prevaricating in prime time

Remember remember
You will forget this day as much as any other day
That is too painful to recall
Except for the relief that you lived them at all

The nation is counting
They’re counting steps
Counting trips to the supermarket
Counting lost coins in the sofa cushions
They’re counting family members they never said goodbye to
Counting the seconds before midnight
Counting returns
Was that today or yesterday
The nation is counting on loss
Counting the charts going in different directions
Counting the mean approximate relative to demographic
Counting the refresh rate
Counting how many meals how many sleeps
How is this possible it was always reality
For a certain segment of the population
For those without degrees
For those with or without penises
For those who never got polled
For living by the whims of those in power 1800 and 1929
The nation is exhausted
Counting on a fresh start with basically the same gridlock
Counting on our hopes in proportion to our fears
Counting how many states left
Counting the same people they’re counting
Counting how many qualifies as genocide
Counting in the cities
Counting media bubbles
Counting breaths
Learning a new time signature
The nation is down for the count
Keep the faith