Written in the midst of the Covid-19 stay-at-home order, April 2020.
This place a kind of ghost town
like the emptiness of your heart
from the isolation
and absence of embrace
Desolate sidewalks
chairs stacked away
and the pastry cases bare
We walked these streets when you were little
and twice while he was alive
You rode the carousel but I
never saw him ride
I like the quiet
this solace to
myself
So I have a space to linger
where there was
But you are always better
than solace.
Busted Flip Flops 