The Silence

by Christopher Bernard

The silence seemed delicious. No one would have thought

the streets could be so still.

The whiplash hum of the cables,

slapping and whining in the slots

or clashing, electrically, above the streets,

the moaning and whimper of the busses,

the gnarled complaints of cars,

the arthritic squeal of a truck,

vanished, like the crumpled quiet of barroom talk.

The barroom talk, too, silenced,

with the garrulous, loud Pandora,

the restaurant ramage quietened

to a held breath by the cashiers.

The tap-tap of a single pedestrian.

The whisper of the wind in your ear.

The buzzing of a heavy bumble bee.

The full-throated aria of a mockingbird,

blithely ignoring sheltering in place,

singing his heart out at the top of a tree.

Under the silence, a trembling,

the lifting of a finger

turning in the wind,

like a cock on a weather vane.

West. South. East. North. East.

South. East. South. West. North.

_____

Christopher Bernard is co-editor and poetry editor of the webzine Caveat Lector. His new novel, Meditations on Love and Catastrophe at The Liars’ Café, appeared in January 2020. His third collection of poetry, The Socialist’ Garden of Verses, is slated to appear later this year.