I'm doing something different this week and posting blog posts about the Corona virus panic. Some of these maybe attempts at humor. Or attempts at prose and poetry. They are all attempts at quality. Results will vary.
Here is one about abandoned spaces. My work has privileged me to being alone in industrial spaces. And maybe all our offices will look like that until the winter passes.
Hung up coats on pegs made for twenty but now holding only one.
The ghost drops of minerals on the cinderblock of the janitors closet. In there it always smells like bleach. It's the only sign of change in the buildings static.
Someone has Bounce dryer sheets in their desk. "Why would you need those?" you will text but then realize there is no valid way to justify this beyond being a creeper. You keep going.
There is a big pump bottle of lotion on the accountants desk. Cucumber melon scented and it transports you back to high school. The after gym class smell and hand sanitizer with blue purple beads swimming in the alcohol.
You want to sleep and curl under the clapboard cubicle desks, kicking away the pill piles of lint. "What's it matter? No one is coming. There is a sign on the door to call if a delivery shows up." Under the desk it is dark and cozy enough. The only light is the slat sunlight that comes through the gap between the cubicle panel and carpet. But you cant sleep as the guilt gnaw at you. "For you there stay safe and always have your phones with you. We still have customers that need us and we can do so much remotely."
In the warehouse you play wall ball with the dock guys. The two last ones. Slapping a tennis ball agaisnt panels and boxes of undelivered furniture. We then make bio suits from pallet wrap enveloping ourselves in giant plastic film still we glisten. The guys are careful when using their box cutters to slice me out.
The sun turns hazy in the coming 5pm twilight and we dont even have to bother locking up.
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