Announcement. ‘It’s only five days!’
‘WE GOT THIS!’
Victorious Victorians!
And then we go to get silly drunk, while we can, at the pub, to temper the setback, before curfew.
‘It’s only five days!’ Our mantra rings out, ‘We got THIS! Let’s bake!’
Get your shoes on, kids! It’s our family walk! With masks, around the zone, we’re permitted. We slip back in, our routine, we know it.
‘Just four more.’ We shout loud, and send out, virtual high-fives, to whoever will listen, ‘We GOT this!’
‘NO MORE WALKING’, kids proclaim. It’s boring. How quickly, they remembered.
‘You OK?’ come the messages, from friends, and the tweets, from strangers, to the universe of our state. ‘Everybody OK?’
‘OK!’ We avow. ‘WE got this!’
Eat some cake, have a drink.
Monday morning, we can do this, we can multi-task, we can teach them, we can work, we can do this. ‘It’s only five days.’ Feebly smile, grit your fangs, toil on, and accept it, mutter it ‘We got this?’
‘Just TWO more!’ Maybe.
His meeting fires up, in the bedroom, I’m in pjs, he’s checked out, for the day, from this house, from the kids.
Can we run, naked, outside, with our masks, set us free? Hysterical, starkers, want to howl, ‘WEEEEEE GOT THHHHIIIIISS!!!!!’
We don’t though, not really. But we mustn’t, say it loud, lest we show, we have cracks, we have cracked.
Kids are bickering, we’ve stopped talking, the media gives headaches, the politicians give headaches, the toilet seat, is covered in wee.
There is damage, makes us shudder.
We’ll get through, it’s a blip, only five days.
Nothing left, but go under the covers, a family feast, of Schitt’s Creek.
But we got this? About as much, as a truck, full steam ahead, under the low bridge on Montague St, always has it, until it doesn’t.
Those trite words, bring back the pockmarks, of past lockdowns, don’t say it, mofo, not to us.
And that’s ok, leave us be, to not have this, and not pretend, that we got this. Not at all.
