Someone steals a Van Gogh from a museum in the Netherlands and I think,
that’s an interesting way to cope.
A woman golfs in a baseball diamond. A sportscaster documents his dogs
fighting for bones. Rae and Justin sew masks. Lara gardens her ass off
in the guest room. Blanche to her pizza dough. Jeremy makes beats. Marcello works through his collection of tiny hotel shampoos to pretend he’s traveling.
The elderly, pushed to walk technology’s plank, invent account passwords
to access their grandchildren. Without school, the young get street smart –
Auden masks his crib’s security camera with his sock. Sally’s kid dunks her Barbie
headfirst into a glass of water because she’s an artist relevant to her time.
Some posit we’ll come out of this chess champions, master painters, chefs
that raise bread like Lazarus. But when the normal things present themselves
again – beer at the bar, sports on the tube, families – I imagine
the interest in knitting will wear off pretty quick. Not that we’re fickle.
Just that we’ve been right all along. At the end of the day, all these
beautiful improvisations, the hobbies we’ve uncovered spelunking
the caves of our minds in search of the luminescent organisms within
our most hidden cathedrals – how can that possibly measure up to the miracle
of sitting in a restaurant with your friends.