Whirls in the city

photo credit: pixabay.com

 It's a pandemic,

It's a period of unrest.

As bodies are falling,

Some from attacked lungs,

Some from bullet holes.

This bar is stuck in time,

Endless tunes and rhythms.

From the high life to the afro-pop,

From the live band stretching their chords and swigging off full tumblers,

To the queued hits on tempting Playlists.

After all the soldiers must regroup and the doctors must rest. 

All bopping their heads to the bar for all.

Even I wriggle my toes to the familiar beats,

While flipping the pages of a book.