{This poem has kind of a dark, gloomy, end-of-the-world, cynical impatience to it. Which made me choose this picture of a sunset, just before the last rays of light disappear.
I think our situation today feels a bit like that: A deadly disease awaits us, around every corner. Grim statistics proclaim our mortality. No sooner do we seem to get a handle on the outbreak, than it springs up again.
I live in Florida, one of the states whose number of cases is once again spiking, after a downturn. I feel very dejected at this turn of events, very imprisoned by circumstance.
I am a cautious, careful person, very risk-averse. Modern men and women, spoiled as we are, find it hard to comprehend that we can’t always be safe. No matter how many precautions we take, there is still a latent risk. Doctors like to speak in terms of relative risk. Patients do not. For them, any risk is scary. This poem acknowledges that risk exists, and urges us to live life anyway.
Now, I do not mean that we should throw up our hands and quit trying. I don’t want people to go hog-wild, and disregard the recommendations of governments and doctors.
I merely state the circumstances of our predicament. And now, on my worst days, it feels like life–or at least, whether you catch the virus or not– is a crap shoot. It is very easy to get tired of the constant warnings and advisories, and just want to go back to living an ordinary life.
But it is much better, to take precautions, and then try your best, within those parameters, to adapt your behaviors, so as to live the fullest life possible.
The Ascot I mention is not a tie, but a race course. The Royal Ascot horse race in June 2020 was held with jockeys fully-masked, and no one in the stands. Traditionally, the glitterati of Britain flock there, fashionably dressed and wearing especially eye-catching hats. No doubt, some look richer than they are.
Please continue to improve your odds of surviving this pandemic, by wearing a mask, washing your hands regularly, maintaining social distance, and following any other official guidance or quarantines. Hope to see you all on the other side! }
Life is a risk, so take it.
Gamble to lose or win.
No one escapes the hatchet
Or forfeits their turn to spin.
Life is a game, now play it.
Pockets, both bare and flush,
Put it all on the table:
Gone in a boozy rush.
Life is a race at Ascot:
Lay all your money down.
People dressed up, but bankrupt.
Bets that could buy a town.
Life parts us fools from money.
No one escapes the game.
Winners and losers: many.
No one recalls their names.
Now, that we know our chances:
(Infinitesimal,)
Now that we comprehend them,
Odds that apply to all,
Now, can we disregard them?
Now, can we play to win?
If gambling our lives is pardoned,
Can spinning the wheel be sin?
Copyright 2020 Andrea LeDew
For a poem on the virtues of leadership in a pandemic, particularly those exhibited by Andrew Cuomo, New York’s governor, please read Excelsior.
I’m feeling cynical impatience as well. For now, I’ll focus on the beauty of the sunset you posted.
Thank you Liz. If we were facing East, rather than West I’d say, it’s always darkest before the dawn. Let’s hope that saying applies anyway!
One can always hope!