Sheila's Dribs 'n Drabs

We braid our street With footsteps, intersecting paths, and meet Always six feet apart Too far to share The beating of our hearts But wave and we Make this our art.

The trouble with internet meetings is we're forced to see ourselves as others see us and I look old.

It was only a tiny hole in the fence but my puppy escaped and was killed on the road through that hole and I wished I’d asked Dad would he fix it before it could happen— always too late. It was only a tiny flame on the tip of the firework that flew the great gorge where the wild winds blew and fire raged and he wished he’d played something different that day but it’s always too late. It was only a quick cup of coffee me closer to you and to somebody else just a few strangers too close till somebody close found the beds were all full and there weren’t any masks and the doctors were ill and we wished we’d skipped coffee perhaps and perhaps it’s not yet too late. And the fire burned out and the new dog was sweet and coffee was served with some treats at the funeral.