The Ghosts to Emerge from this Pandemic Will Be Unforgiving

The ghosts to emerge from this pandemic will be unforgiving. I saw one last night walking back from the Jewel. She was seated on the crown of a garage, lowly singing a song in Spanish. Soñamos con una ciudad. Soñamos con un bosque. Entramos en la ciudad. Entramos en el bosque. (We dream of a city. We dream of a forest. We enter the city. We enter the forest). She was lightly tapping her cane upon the roof tiles. I could see the red leaves of the maple behind her shining through her. She removed something from a bag beside her and hoisted it toward her shoulder. Then she fired some ringing buck shot that barely missed me. I looked and she was gone. I thought I could still hear that song. I heard the hum of an electric motor, maintaining the inflation of a big white illuminated ghost on a neighbor’s lawn. Soñamos con una ciudad. Soñamos con un bosque. Entramos a la ciudad. Entramos al bosque.