Will We Ever Feel Safe Outside Again?

Will we ever feel safe outside again?

I asked, pulling on my last pair of gloves

As the rubber stretched its way over my fingers.

I usually wear a mask too

But now that the shelves are empty

And the Surgeon General warns against it

I have saved the last two

People usually stand six feet apart in line

They cross the streets like scattered beans

Anxious and in haste, it's hard to believe that we are going to be fine

We refuse to touch door knobs

Hold on to rails

And we watch carefully, what part of the shopping bag the clerk grabs

We no longer shake hands

Sometimes we elbow or wave

But we would rather keep to ourselves on errands

I refuse to take the bus

I refuse to take the train

Having my bike has been a definite plus

And when I return home

That old, torn, filthy gloves doesn't come with me

And I soak my hand in sud and foam