The Golden Hoard

Pokes and Probes

By: Charles Giuliano - Sep 08, 2020

 

The Golden Hoard

Depending how you count
I suck at math
It’s been six months
Or perhaps even eight
Any way you cut it
Seems like forever
As in before and after
Some say the new normal
The masks pile up
Near the door
All a jumble
No way to know
Old from new
Sometimes they give you one
When out and about for
Pokes and probes
Like today in Bennington
Pulmonary function test
Lots of heavy breathing
Doing what I was told
Meek and obedient
She was real nice
Knew my age
It was on the papers
Coming to get me
She was surprised
You don’t look older
Than sixty-five
Ah jeeze
Seems she grew up
In North Adams
Went to Drury
Which locals call Dreary
Has a dog and son
Gets up at four AM
Lives on Florida mountain
Forty minutes to work
Cept on snow days
Winter coming soon
Astrid was waiting
On a bench outside since
Only patients allowed in
As though that were special
Such a big deal
Vermont has been blessed
Really few cases
But at the farm stand
On the way home
Picking up some corn
The old duffer
Was all over me
Like a cheap suit
Quite in my face
Not wearing a mask
I leaned away
He lunged forward
A deranged smirk
Country conversation
Liked my muscles
Felt like he was
Hitting on me
Cripes imagine that
Me and the farmer
Well you know
Vermont is kindah weird
We scooted on home
Glad to be back in
Taxachusetts