Pandemic

I open my dry hands to receive more Purell before I lay my hands on the blue handle of the shopping cart at Walmart and wait my turn to enter the complete chaos of every aisle.
I don't know what I'm looking for: it's not toilet paper or Clorox, hand sanitizer or Dial, 
Not the red Trident I deem most important to chew on while I work from home, and not any more snacks to stuff my face with as I watch the clock go by. Blue masks on otherwise readable neighbors, latex-free gloves on otherwise soft hands, elbows replacing handshakes, exchanging suspicious glances instead of sharing words: Discomfort is Everything Now. And so I take a long walk along the creek, I try to breathe in a normal breeze and let it revive me. A large gust of wind blows across my face and it feels good. A woman walking toward me throws her long arms up and smiles. She thinks so too. We have found ourselves in the breeze.