To the Deliverers (Kendig)

          "Thus...bright stars and...winds guide you,
           with others.” —Horace

Until March 12th, only one courier cruised

past our drive in his old car, one hand

steering, the other heaving the bag—

we’re notified today—touched only

by gloves. Nobody likes the one

who brings bad news, Antigone said,

but we love our bringer of bad news,

a retiree who has come to lead

a whole young delivery phalanx in livery—

the Door Dash, Grub Hub and Uber Eats;

those fast and slow haulers of groceries,

some sent by the Council on Aging

for free, which the merely aging

forego for the sake of the infirm aged;

and all the initially folks: FedEx, UPS,

and USPS, transporting and leaving

the dog’s drugs, our sex juice, oh,

the fan blade arm that broke a year ago

and finally sent for has been fixed

in this time we have to repair.

Each day, I want to run to the street

and hand you a cake you can’t take;

or laurel crowns (the image of which

now seems freakily corona-ish);

or a bill with Hamilton, that rising

immigrant, who rose to duel with death.

No bills. Let’s put that cash in plastic

no phalanges in the phalanx touch.

We’re revering our nurses, our doctors,

med techs, phlebotomists, and aides.

And you too, who brave us dwellers

on the steep, we well at home salute

you: our saviors, rescuers, oh, dear deliverers.

Diane Kendig is a poet, writer, and translator with awards from the Ohio Arts Council and NEH. Her most recent chapbook of poetry is Prison Terms. For twenty years she led the creative writing program at the University of Findlay, including its prison writing program. Currently she curates the Cuyahoga County Public Library site, “Read + Write,” with nearly 4000 readers.