Poetry for Quarantine
by John Patrick Robbins
Nothing Changes But The Weather
Most the world was in a self imposed quarantine, and here I was hooking up with a semi stranger in the backseat of a car.
A life lived dangerously had been my mantra so just because the apocalypse was near why stop the party now?
She was a second date and beat nothing at all.
I was a drunk and not in the least bit picky.
She took the ride and I watched the traffic from the view of the parking lot and thought up this little ditty I'm sharing now.
You know it's memorable, when you're penning poems in your head with your pen in someone else's ink.
She was a second date and I just another empty soul to share space and grind against for the lack of anything better to do.
Never polish off the edges, leave them hidden in poorly penned poems for everyone to read.
I never high five myself for it's far from an achievement.
We all need something and I wasn't under the delusion they ever needed me.
We had our moment and went our separate ways.
I ended up with a poem and she simply got a goodbye.
Nothing changes but the weather.
The Grass Is Never Greener
You locked the world away, slowly allowing yourself to die.
I saw the man fade and my story continues much where yours did decline.
The hardest moment was knowing it was farewell. We always yearn for what has already passed.
The laughs and the stories I now pass onto others.
We are but living libraries growing old with time.
Trying to recollect that which we can longer so easily recall.
Grasping onto the moments before death.
Fearing the unknown.
Flying high till we inevitably crash into the ground.
Playing roles to maintain an act, while falling to pieces behind closed doors.
Dreaming of something and not fully understanding that which compels us to keep moving on.
We are like coins tossed into a fountain.
Wishes with good intention somehow getting lost in the dark waters below.
Life is never planned and art is never safe.
It's last call so bring the lights up and empty the room.
As we chase dreams and one another on into the night.
Capture a glimmer of happiness, let the glow cast over us.
We are just coins cast with good intentions and even higher hopes.
Dreams remain, people do not.
Enjoy them while you can.
John Patrick Robbins is the editor in chief of the Rye Whiskey Review and Black Shamrock Magazine. His work has been published by Ariel Chart , San Pedro River Review , Red Fez, Punk Noir Magazine, The San Antonio Review, The Mojave River Review , Piker Press.
His work is always unfiltered.