By Danita Brisson
For 22 months I’ve embraced the new rules,
heeded tape marks on floors, unlike many fools.
Shopped in off-hours because that was smart,
and wiped down the handle of my shopping cart.
I’ve shunned crowded places where Covid would thrive,
and faithfully sported my N95.
I’ve socially-distanced, used hand sanitizer,
Astra Zeneca boosted, after two jabs of Pfizer.
Put a couple of years’ worth of holiday seasons
on hold for a while, for some very good reasons.
I’ve done everything experts said I must do,
to make the world safer. I hope you have too.
I will admit, when infections were low,
I did socialize with some folks that I know.
We looked at the risk and then we agreed,
the risk was much smaller than our human need,
for respite, just being with friends and with kin.
Still, we socialized outdoors rather than in.
Then wave after wave, the new variants came,
but my Covid protocols remained the same.
I’ve kept my guard up, always done the right things,
except see the blind spot self-righteousness brings.
Despite my behaving most responsibly,
I didn’t catch Covid, but Covid caught me.
I DIDN’T CATCH COVID
After the bout I don’t hear or see as well as I used to, and many favorite foods taste differently than they once did. Fortunately my sense of humor remains intact and it’s a good thing, because it’s my main coping mechanism in difficult times. A positive PCR test result while living in a town that is not yet my home, definitely qualified as one of those times. Writing a mildly self-chastising poem became my “coming out” announcement to friends and family.
I wanted them to know that I’d had, and survived the virus and I was fine. I explained that I was not a Covid expert, but I was experienced, so I’d be happy to answer any questions they might have. They had dozens of them. So even through quarantine, I was conversing with people all over North America who, like me, struggled to understand how they could escape infection and what they might face if they were unsuccessful.
Many said the poem caused them to rethink their attitudes towards those who become infected. They’re not necessarily naysayers or extremists. I was proof that it could happen to them. I worried that my poem might generate Covid-shaming or alienation from them. It didn’t. They understood that I was sharing the experience rather than hiding it, to empower them, and protect their best interests, not mine.
So, the oppressive virus that had separated us initially and put me in quarantine, eventually brought us together, through the power of a few rhyming words.
Now I don’t hear or see as well as I used to, and many of my favourite foods taste differently than they once did. Fortunately my sense of humour remains intact even as my other senses fail. Good thing, because it’s my main coping mechanism in difficult times. Receiving a positive PCR test result [last month], while living in a town that is not yet my home, definitely qualified as one of those times. So it was, that a around the second-last day of quarantine, I wrote a mildly self-chastising poem that became my “coming out” announcement to friends and family.
I wanted them to know that I’d had, and survived the virus and that I was fine. I explained that I was not a Covid expert, but I was experienced, so if they had questions, I’d be happy to answer them. They had questions, dozens of them. So even while in through quarantine, I was conversing with people all over North America who, like me, had struggled to understand how they could escape infection and what they might face if they were unsuccessful.
Many mentioned that said the poem had caused them to rethink their attitudes towards those who become infected. They’re not necessarily the naysayers or extremists. I was proof that it could happen to them. Some of my friends had adopted extremely hard lines on avoiding exposure at the outset of the pandemic. I worried that my poem might generate Covid-shaming or alienation from them. It didn’t. They understood that I was sharing the experience rather than hiding it, to empower them, and protect their best interests, not mine.
So, the oppressive virus that had separated us initially and put me in quarantine, eventually brought us together, through the power of a few rhyming words.
