Pandemic 2021

In my loft

A broken screen, dirty windows.

A year later

I still see the rooftops

of the school across the street.

No children or buses arriving,

Quiet on the playground.

Alone again today,

I cannot mend the screen.

I can clean the window.

~~

My dog has taken to whining.

I hear the sound

and look down the stairs

to see her standing, tail up,

by the dog door.

Go out I tell her but her look

tells me I am missing the point,

and she continues.

It’s about to snow

and I did not take her for a walk today,

lost in past and future.

~~

My jeans have grown tighter

in the pandemic.

I’ve started to take

my grandmother’s round form.

I feel the strain of

waistband and belly,

long to put on my robe,

And eat the pieces of hidden chocolate.

No more effort to fit in.