Pandemic Hobbies
Rachael Ikins

Today I flushed two stinkbugs
down the toilet. I washed my hands. I laundered a navy blanket that was soaked in white
cat hairs. The dryer clumped them into mats. Took me an hour using a lint roller and tweezers to pick them off. I
washed my hands, considered shaving the cat.

Mud season rolls in,
again, and my reusable fabric mop turns garden-earth black. Drips in the garage to dry next to the table where I
spray Chlorox on boxes and disinfect all packages before filing excess in recycling. I wash my hands.

Sun breaks through to reveal the dust and smears and all the corners I’ve never cleaned. Some days I hate the
sun. My shoulders ache. And my hands. Raw.

I removed my rings but one. Bracelets, and watchbands, anything a virus could stick to and, by some inbred
genetic need to trick me to scratch my nose that exact moment, to allow it
to enter my respiratory column,
to feed.

[submitted on 8/24/2020]