By Bobi Leutschaft Poitras

How Are You?

So many houses
Have four-paned windows
I never noticed till today
The streets are quiet
Just the sound of seagulls squawking
Wondering why there aren’t any
Half-eaten sandwiches in the schoolyard
The café has one car in its tiny lot
The owner, sanitizing sinks
Putting up chairs 
Counting losses like cigarette butts
At a party long ago
The florist has closed her doors
Till further notice 
As flowers slowly wilt in the fridge
The sound of silence is deafening
But no prophets have written on the wall
Just some kids with chalk
A neighbour is walking her dog
I turn so she can’t see me
And ask the question
I no longer want to answer.

TP Madness

While on a little shopping spree
Necessities to buy
In case I become quarantined
(I’m worried, I can’t lie)
I walked around with my legs crossed
So desperate to pee
I finally found a bathroom where
I didn’t need a key.

Amid the awful mess, I saw,
There was no TP there,
But in my purse I happened on
One small and wrinkled square.
It needed to suffice, so I 
Was careful as could be
But when I left I noticed that
Some folks were eyeing me.

As I continued shopping there
(I swear this was the case) 
A line-up was pursuing me
So I sped up my pace.
I felt so many hands on me 
As to the floor I flew
It’s then I saw that I had trailed
Some TP on my shoe.

Cheering Myself Up

Sun streams through my window
Reminding me it’s time
To muddle through another day
And watch the death toll climb

Coffee in the morning
Dispels the last of night
I load an empty page on Word
But don’t know what to write

Life strives for usual 
Optimum offers load
And yesterday the street sweeper
Went up and down the road

Amazon sends a text
My charger has arrived
Snow has all but disappeared
The rhubarb has revived

All things seems quite normal
When I’m just home alone
But normal quickly flees the scene
When I look at my phone

I click “worldometer”
A hundred times a day
Disaster comes to shake the hand
I quickly pull away

It all becomes too much
And so I fill my cup
And raise a glass to writing poems
And cheering myself up

Insomnia

Sleep eludes me
Like an ex-boyfriend
Who wants to pretend
We never met
Who wants to think
His touch meant nothing
Not ever knowing
It lingers yet

Who’s There in That Bottle with You?

Running off, never saying where
While your body just sits in that chair
I see, every once in a while
The thinnest phantom of a smile
You stare, fingers interlocking
Silent, though your eyes don’t stop talking

Rooting for The Jetsons

Of all future scenarios
We could be living in
I’ll lay aside Big Brother and
Will hope the Jetsons win

The worlds of Dune do not appeal
With giant worms and all
And Star Wars makes me nervous that
Storm Troopers soon will call

A Brave New World I would forego
Its horrors too complex 
(Not to mention babies are made
Without the joy of sex)

The many worlds that Captain Kirk
Explored seemed kind of fun
But I’m rather inclined to think
We’ve quite enough with one

And so I vote for George’s world
Of life up in the air
With Rosie bots and talking dogs
And leisure time to spare

Showdown

The empty page
(the writer’s scourge)
Stares me down
(full of nerve)
I always blink first
(damn it)

(above works are copyright, Bobi Leutschaft Poitras, 2020)

Collectif members, send an image of your very recent work to cagac.ca@gmail.com with up to 100 words describing what you did, materials used, inspiration, etc. Maybe share how you’re feeling & how creativity helps. We’d like an informative, inspiring show & tell. 

Writers, send us poetry, lyrics, a short piece or excerpt.