Rod Raglin
This blog will touch on the experiences I have as a writer (not to be mistaken for my experience as a writer, i.e. how many books I've written, etc); the pleasure and the pain, the joy and the grief, the satisfaction and the frustration, the magic and the reality - have I left anything out, oh yeah, the rejection, rejection and more rejection, the humiliation and the embarrassment, the jealousy and the resentment - that pretty much covers it, except for why I do it which perhaps I'll realize along the way. Are you totally confused? Good, let's begin.
... and every day seems like Sunday
suspicious eyes, smiles masked
personal space means sickness or health
distance is more than social
wash hands, don’t touch face
routines abandoned, purpose questioned,
risky shopping, empty shelves
don’t touch face, sanitize hands
and every day seems like Sunday
an overwhelming weariness
dogged determination meets eroding resolve
anomalies challenge trust
nerves fray, attitudes morph
and every day seems like a tedious Sunday
like a Sunday without worship, without rest
muffled laughter, muted joy, singing hushed
vacant pews, parks empty
every day, even on Sunday
stores line up, traffic doesn’t
streets are safe, shopping isn’t
distance is more than social, hands and face
every day, every day
suggestions become warnings, warnings become rules, rules become law,
parks patrolled, fines levied
smiles concealed, distance challenged,
empty streets, risky parks,
and every day seems longer and like Sunday
weariness becomes restlessness
grocery workers, our new heroes
revered for doing their job
healthcare workers, our new gods
worshipped for their career choice
warnings, rules, laws, gods, heroes, leaders,
and every day longer lines
masks, distance, suspicion, risk, emptiness, challenges
trust undermined by anomalies, confidence eroded
and every day is long and longer, interminable
and seems like Sunday
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