Talking to Myself Fourteen

One of Judy's hens taken by John Ewing a few years ago.

Talking to Myself Fourteen March 22, 2020

Things here are the same, yet not the same.
I still sleep well, eat my healthy diet, draw
the hens to follow me, jugs of feed in my hands, 
out to the coop. While I take down the shutters,
they eat out of the jugs, then try to slip back
into the coop. I keep the rooster in view
because he jumps on me, beak out. Even 
through thick cloth, he draws blood. I take
them handfuls of chickweed while I hurry
out of their coop. The red bud tree is our own
burning bush. The forsythia has finished, and
the hydrangea’s leaves are trying again. Wag
and I have beaten a path to the back gate. I 
hurry her in before the hens escape. I make
the dinner and wash the dishes. I take my
daily walk in the front yard.Tim goes out to 
work, and I stay home. This corona flu bug
lurks for two weeks. We don’t know whether
we’ll get sick. “Stay away from the hospital,”
they tell us. "Call your provider.” It has been
ten days since I diagnosed myself to “shelter
in place.” My doctor works overtime with
sick people Not everyone gets real sick. Stay 
away from the hospital,” they tell us. "Elderly 
are most at risk. Stay home.” The wider
world changes, but this domestic life, not
much. They say it will be over in eight weeks

Let May come soon.