While you are shouting you’re right.
who else is.
The first message is a head’s up.
Someone in the building has tested Covid positive and is off to quarantine.
“You will be contacted by an official in the health authority is there is potential that you were in contact with someone while they were contagious. Carry on until then.”
Potential: having or showing the capacity to become or develop into something in the future.
You know, like how two people in a building have the potential to pass one another, greet one another, use the same facilities, sit in the same chairs, use the same keyboards, sit next to one another at lunch, even though you don’t know them and they don’t know you. You’d identify them how?
I think the more accurate message would be “You will be contacted by an official in the health authority is there is likelihood that you were in sustained contact with someone while they were contagious.”
Let’s be real. Potential is everywhere. Give us the hope of less likelihood!
Several hundred people wait in our masks with bated breath, wondering who will be the ‘lucky’ winner of a lottery worthy of Shirley Jackson.
Pandemic adventures as we attempt to surf the second wave.
Like Red Rose Tea:
only in Canada?
are just caribou.
She loves you
Diamonds in the air
Street lights’ silence.
Just a snow shovel’s scraping
In the distance.
Yeah, yeah, yeah.
Leaf buds, bursting hope.
Unfolding pastel visions
She loves you
Heat hovers in the air
Living breathing furnace.
And you know that can’t be bad.
Golden light illuminates scarlet visions.
I will never say you’re beautiful
I’ll be your friend forever.
Yeah, yeah, yeah
Each act ahead comes
from what’s behind.
We are all walking wounded
that tangle us,
into our future.
Wear a blind fold:
we cannot look into a mirror to see the pain
etched across our faces.
See the bandages?
Trip over them
leaving the bar.
Scream yourself hoarse,
stamp your feet.
Shout “I’m fine, fine, FINE!” *
The lady doth protest too much.*
(*Allusions: In Louise Penny’s wonderful Inspector Gamache books, Ruth Zardo has written a book of poetry where FINE is an acroynym for F*cked up, Insecure, Neurotic, Egotistical. I’d say that applies here, too. “Methinks the lady doth protest too much” is from the play within a play in Shakespeare’s Hamlet).