Here We Go Again!

Well, here we are, another April, and another Poem-a-Day Challenge. As usual, I will be taking my cues from at least two source, usually simultaneously: Robert Lee Brewer's Poetic Asides blog, and Maureen Thorson's NaPoWriMo blog. I will try to combine their respective daily prompts when possible, but when I can't, it usually results in two poems, which isn't such a bad thing,

This year feels different from previous Poetry Months: we are in the midst of a pandemic, which is becoming devastating in parts of our country and the world. The flu virus itself may not be the worst disease known to mankind, but it is extremely contagious and has a mortality rate at least ten times more than other more common flus. So there is a high level of anxiety and fear around here these days, combined with a general shutdown of social life and non-essential services to try to tamp down the spread. We may come out of this with some aspects of everyday life permanently changed, just as we came out of "9/11" a number of years ago. Some of that may be reflected in my poetry this month, including today. I haven't been writing much in the last five or six months, and this is always a good jump-start for my creativity, but this year it's also a welcome distraction. So here is my first entry. The prompts for today are: (1) Write a "new world" poem, and (2) (in Maureen's words) "write a self-portrait poem in which you make a specific action a metaphor for your life – one that typically isn’t done all that often, or only in specific circumstances."

Fertilizing

One must be methodical about this,

for there is a science to it,

a stew of nitrogen, phosphates, potash.

Too much will leave a chemical burn,

so I push the broadcast spreader,

carefully calibrated by a numbered dial,

spraying little granules across the grass.

I march in parallel rows,                                           

back and forth, back and forth.

It takes my mind off the chaos inside -

the anxieties of a new world unfolding,

and by that I don't mean spring,

which has come early with a vengeance,

while we humans are battling an enemy

too small to see. Birds still regale us

with a cacophony of calls,

and the fruit trees have burst all at once.

But there are fewer planes growling overhead,

less subliminal traffic rumble, and the stores,

the schools, the baseball parks, are dark and quiet.

We hunker down at home trying to keep

from getting ill, and most of us find distractions

to keep the panic from our door.

Spring couldn't care less about our fears,

and goes on, business as usual,

so we try to embrace it, and I do my part,

preparing my lawn for summer, when things -

we hope - will be even more full of life.