Christine Rhein: Panic

March 13, 2020

        
Because it’s too late now
            to sound the alarm
over the lack of alarm,
            over the sudden
wealth of it. Because look 
            at the Dow, the S&P, 
at markets all over town
            out of soap, aspirin,
bread. Because of the canned
            soups I bought
for my father—age 88,
            and the way he sighed
at me—his cupboards full
            making him nervous
about the chance that food
            and money might go
to waste. Because the virus
            keeps floating
on the nightly news, one cell
            like a giant globe
of clustered red flags. Because,
            while warning us
not to touch our faces,
            that health official
touched hers, and last week,
            at my physical,
my doctor smiled, sanitizing 
            his hands, hugging 
me hello. Because here
            in Michigan—
the first COVID-19 reported
            three days ago,
and now, in Detroit—
            my son’s last day
of teaching for a while.
            Because, after sending
the fifth graders home 
            with letters in Spanish,
he emailed—Mom and Dad,
            I’m really scared 
that my kids will end up 
            going hungry. 
Because who needs free lunch,
            math, science,
testing kits, when a president 
            doesn’t take 
responsibility at all for delay,
            proudly declaring 
two very big words—
            national emergency.

Copyright 2020 Christine Rhein