Meg Hurtado

LOVE IN THE TIME OF CORONAVIRUS

The elderly still holding hands and then 

                   remembering, letting go at the light,

a black-masked stranger on wheels 

     mumbling a muffled “I love you,” 

                            because it’s hot 

and I took off my sweater, 

a man with dead apples 

             choking the spokes of his bicycle 

circles the park and, in sing-song, tells us 

           what to do tomorrow—

Abundance of absence drags the street;

    the question of whether to kiss just got bigger.

It’s the end of the world — do you know

where your heart is? 

                              Do you have everything

             you need to stay away? 

We are already out of tests.

                   What have you touched?