Jessica Goodheart
After the Pandemic
We’ll share lipstick and buffet brunches,
nights dancing in empty swimming pools,
Drake on the playlist –Baby, come closer—
our hair coiffed at last, but now falling,
falling and frizzing around our bare faces.
We’ll rhumba and shout, a joyous aerosol,
the vapor of here we all are,
the jumble and heat of you can’t
get us now. It will be a miracle
if we don’t undress
or queue up at kissing booths
or board a cruise for Marrakesh.