From a Diary of the Plague Year (2)

The wind wants to play
today, coming in at all
angles. Clouds look weary,
sagging low, slow, spilling
a few raindrops like a drunk
pulling change out of a pocket.

As to the unnatural world:
people seem humbled by
the pall of the plague, as if
their ambition and certainty
had turned into old castoff toys.

Mainly we seem to be doing
what humans do when not
prodded into social madness:
one foot in front of the other, using
one or many wheels moving things,
caring about and for others,
gathering good information,
wondering how long good sense
will last.


hans ostrom 2020

Party of One

A frost has settled on her smile.
Her words are crisp and cold.
You suspect she never dances,
and that's what you've been told.

You do not want to know her,
although her ways intrigue you.
Your you would not fit hers.
Her disdain would make you blue.

Think of all the times you tried
to get along, accommodate.
They were you've learned a waste of time,
like talking to an iron gate.

Maybe in fact you've lowered
your level of sociability
and must sanguinely admit
alone's good company.


hans ostrom 2017