BY MICHELE HERMAN |
With COVID on the uptick this summer, I revisited a few of my snapshots from the hard summer of 2020.
Forecast
Expect heat, said the morning news,
so I put on my shorts and braced
myself to survey the damage done
from all the dark, dry months. Scales, flakes,
spots where the epidermis has gone
rogue; the flaws are legion
on white skin.
Summer Fashion 2020
Most summers in New York City
a new part of the female body
comes into vogue or washes
back out. I remember the summer
of the strip of exposed hip
when waistbands grew low
and T-shirts child-sized, the summer
when collarbones were declared
the new erogenous zone.
Last year the waistbands crept
back up nearly to the midriff
while the sleeves all played
shoulder peekaboo.
This summer is already marked
by the insouciance of a mask
dangling from one ear.
Hottest Day of the Year
Went for a Saturday walk unencumbered,
I thought, but my mood pressed down
like shoulder straps, and I wished I could ditch it
by the curb for trash pickup. I walked
to Chelsea and found nothing there
I wanted: a sparrow digging itself
a hole in the tree-pit dust, a trampled note
from FedEx saying WE MISSED YOU,
a soda bottle full of cabdriver pee.
Sign of Life
On a sidewalk in the West Village
three strangers made the same
exclamation all in a row: David!
Am I glad to see you! I was
the second of the three.
Who’s David? The quiet soul
from Uzbekistan we all rely on
to change our batteries
and prolong the lives
of our favorite shoes.
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