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the child's funeral

is small.
maybe because he didn't know
anyone yet

and he was a warrior
because he tried without
making up his mind
to do so

his father is his pallbearer
his brother wants to play on his phone
and his mother is still swollen
from so much carrying.
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six feet, a poem

i saw you the other day,

you climbed out of the car and you shuffled
but when you saw me you shuffled harder
and i knew you were keeping

social distance

"six feet!" you shouted with a laugh and a wave
"sixty feet!" another shuffle, this time with a limp

but the next day i saw you
and you slowed down.
"six feet," you sighed, stopping.
"how are you." i said as
you leaned on the wall that separates us,

and it reached under your weight
towards me, a sigh
but also, as if it was done
with six feet.
and sixty feet.
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