If I cry out for help —
will you be there?
We can’t know the thoughts of billions
staring bleakly out of windows:
I can only speak for myself.
Watching the news wounds me,
a psychological stab to my heart,
yet still I follow it religiously:
The enemy is out there, silent,
unseen, invasive and surreptitious
in ways I can’t imagine.
So don’t let my cheery greeting
fool you: I’m scared to death
of what may come —
for they’re making death my sole
Copyright Francis Barker 2020