This six-foot wide divide

So we sit “beside” each other. We’re not
even supposed to be touching now I know.
Oh, how that’s so not beside in old world terms,
when we would eat close enough we could accidentally touch,
an intimate brush of the hand as we, say, both reached
for the pepper at the same instant – can’t do that now –
and wow, that strong salt smell,
a breeze blowing in cyclonic from the ocean,
makes this outdoor seating a little too al fresco
for me and maybe for you as well, I ask,
but am unable to hear your response clearly,
what you say to me I receive as nonsense.
Ah, how I imagined I’d finally find true love
when I could get back in the game again, and maybe
if I could look into your eyes I could see it somehow,
but you’re sitting way over there, too small for my old sight,
and I’m way over here blindly speculating about,
well, this might possibly be the one for me if only –
although the unmasked dining’s definitely a help, seeing
your entire face, the added bonus it affords me
to try to lip read your whipped away words,
blown off course en route to me, of course,
because of this stiff onshore bluster between us.

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