2020
By Therese L. Broderick
Months of plague, weeks when I shun
the bare-cupped palms
of parking lot beggars. Nights I retreat
​
from laundromats and McGeary’s
into the vaults of Facebook Live
or Google Meet. Today I hunker
with other Zoomers in cramped
pixel-hectic rooms, ping-ponging
like boxers in a ring. Sometimes I split
into paired screens the deranged mosaic
of windows and tiles—pantheon
of hosts and donors in pajamas—
or I toss away alms—virtual hearts
dissolving out of reach.
I spell Plz &Thx, Please and Thanks
with the lettered beads
on my sanitized keyboard. Grateful
for the charity of text-predictors
in this year of seeking favor
from gods of Connectivity,
and absolution from the lepers.
Scarcity of food dropped by beachgoers forces sea gulls to kill and eat pigeons
~ news report, May 2020
​
By Therese L. Broderick
​
I’ve learned to tell the difference—petulant screech
of blue jay, persistent squeal of wind-tossed ash tree.
But this morning’s dire hysteria? never heard of
until now, when crumbs littering West Lawrence Street
have run out; and the largest crow I’ve ever seen
shambled its way, alone, from the broad ledge
of the patio wall down to the ornamental spruce,
its amazon wings and tail feathers askew—
airspace too scant, the angle too meager
for swoops and loops. Buoyancy unaccustomed to
hunger. And this other bird, my own ordinary robin
unaccustomed to a black corvid descending
to invade and attack her nest: stabbing the first-born chick
to death, devouring it in seconds, leaving no trace
of flesh on the lawn for red-chinned turkey vultures—
I hear her loud, crazed skrikes as the shrieks
of mothers, nurses, a helpless onlooker.
Calcare
~ tread, press, stamp (Lat.)
By Therese L. Broderick
From decal to decal to decal, I tread through Market 32.
​
This way only: up the aisle of milk and bread.
That way only: down the aisle of disinfectants.
Temporary arrows rolled out by temporary workers
(while I was asleep, wrangling with full-time nightmares).
Onwards I press, following signs, obeying warnings.
When the masked guy in front of me stops his cart,
I stop.
He’s pricing some buy-one-get-one-free boxes of cookies.
Bargains blare. Discounts scream. From every direction
spreads the anarchy of BOGO stickers.
The floor trembles.
Therese L. Broderick is an editor of Rockvale Review and a workshop leader at Pyramid Life Center. She has been a Hudson Valley Writers Guild volunteer for many years. Her poem “Mr. Canada Admonishes the Poets” won an Intro Journals Project prize from the Association of Writers & Writing.
