Edvard Munch 1893

The clouds weightily hung
We mounted bikes
And rode through quarantined streets
The air was thick of it
Greeted by hesitant glances of joggers, walkers and dog owners
Pondering, “Will it pour on us before we make it home?”
It sprinkled – warm misty Florida droplets
Misty droplets can kill these days
The newscast was overflowing with
Every expert
Sharing graphics
Telling tales of epidemics in historic past
Tales of people who were erased from history
Droplets fell more steadily
As we meandered neighborhoods
Breathing fresh air
Enjoying movement
And feeling that we had


The apocalyptic movie
That invaded our simple world
Or was it a dream, a nightmare?
More like a surrealist painting
Where familiar objects
Are placed in unfamiliar space
Or floating time
“We will awake from this dream”
I told myself
Over and over
“We will awake”
We arrived home and stored our bikes
Entered the house
And locked the door

In the painting in my mind
I edit the fear and make it faith
I spray the droplets with a supernatural disinfectant
And they die, still floating in mid-air
I blow them away as a child blows a seedy dandylion

Laurie A Stasi

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