Writing is tough at hospitals,
Sitting in a sea of sitters,
Worried some, reluctant others,
Jittering with their own jitters.
I miss my bitter coffee black
Shimmering against china white,
As I drink from this paper cup
An excuse of a ‘coffee lite.’
The lobby is too crowded now.
No hope of social distancing.
I walk out to the parking lot
Dreading the virus menacing.
I stand under a barren tree
No shade, no men, no fear of flu.
Yellow leaves are leaving behind
A crape jasmine budding anew.
The bud, in its solitude,
Mirrored my loneliness, it sees.
And hears the only thing I’m saying:
“Don’t leave me, now.
Don’t leave me, please.”