Ode to The Great Cosmic Kiss

There was a time in this godless cosmos
when life was but a series of choices;
pick this, not that,
do this, not that,
think this, not that.

Holding my sign,
an enraged man approaches.
“Grow a fucking brain!”
Thank you, I reply.
“You’re a fucking idiot!”
I like skiing, I said. Do you ski?
The man stalks off.

There is something awful
in the nearness this brings,
the man’s face inches from mine.
Maybe he’ll get Covid,
that’ll teach the bastard.

Pick this, not that,
do this, not that,
think this, not that.

I’m sitting now,
still holding my sign,
feeling dizzy,
disoriented,
for it was only the day before
I’d finally tested negative.
My thoughts ping-pong
while in the cyclonic center
stands God’s chosen people.
Why do I persist
in this good trouble,
this necessary trouble,
if I am one of
God’s chosen people?

Pick this, not that,
do this, not that,
think this, not that.
Really, it’s all rather senseless.

Later that evening,
standing outside my apartment,
a gray plastic bag,
kissed by a sudden breeze,
scuttles across the blacktop,
as if late for a party.
I can’t stop smiling
ear to ear as the bag
abruptly takes flight,
soaring up
and over the rooftops
and out of sight.
It is then I finally surrender
and become undone.
This is the great cosmic kiss.