We, The Social Animals
UNCHARTED WATERS
Published in
‘The Quaranzine: Poetry in the Time of COVID-19 (A Fearsome Critters Zine, p.56)’
We, The Social Animals
It can’t be true,
At first, we thought.
There has to be a mistake.
The numbers are wrong, we tested too many people,
Even those who just sneezed once
While at the Accident & Emergencies
With a broken leg or arm.
It has to be a conspiracy
Plotted by our European neighbours
Jealous because – no doubt – we have the best food,
The best pizza, the biggest number of UNESCO heritage sites,
The second-longest living people in the world,
The Pope, Michelangelo, Leonardo and all
On top of fantastic weather, beautiful seaside,
Islands, mountains, falls.
Not satisfied that Venice is already sinking
And Rome is a mess,
They sent us the virus,
As an invisible ‘patient zero’
Causing unwanted stress.
And in doing so, they killed not only us,
But our very essence,
Our being Italian.
But we, the social animals,
Felt threatened
Just by hearing ‘quarantine’
Even if the word – coined during the Black Death – comes
From the Italian ‘quaranta’ and it means forty,
Now already cut down to fourteen.
We felt trapped
Like panthers at the zoo
Forced to move around in a tiny space
Thinking of how to break free from the cage.
Not to mention we would never wear a face mask,
Not only useless, but absolutely not cool,
Making us look like real fools.
So, as soon as news broke
That the North was going to be in lockdown
Many jammed the train stations
And fled down to the Southern towns.
Some of us said that Italy was not only affected by brain drain,
But now, morons’ drain,
And the South was suffering again.
We, the social animals
Went on sipping our aperitivo undisturbed,
Sitting snugly by the river, or canal
With prosecco flowing
As the number of the ill and dying
Was growing.
They were old, they said, and already ill.
But goodness,
When you’re 80, in Italy, you still have another 20 to go.
Yet, we felt invincible and protected,
In our own private microcosm,
Not at all affected.
Suddenly, when we came to the realization,
When lockdown meant that we had nowhere to go
And anyway, nobody wanted us anymore,
It was – as all things Italian – too late.
The sirens of ambulances passing by our homes,
The IUC departments overflown,
Hospitals on the brink of collapse
Retired doctors and nurses called back to work
Around the clock.
The fear that not only we had not enough resources
But that we were all mortal.
Regardless of age,
We could not ignore
We had to fight another war.
Now we, the social animals,
Lock ourselves into four walls,
Sit on the sofa dealing with family bore,
Cultivating our own garden from the third floor,
Smart-working and remote-learning indoors.
So, forgive me if tonight I’m not craning my neck
To reach you cheeks, to stamp my kiss
Or extend my arms for a hug
Or shake your hand
As if you caught for sure a bug.
Excuse me if – like my government has ruled –
The one-square-meter distance between us
Is the only cure.
I wonder what lesson we’ll draw from this
When it’s all over, when we’ll manage to recover.
Would we look back and say
That we, the social animals, managed to get our lives back
Not because we’re unruly
And can’t live without kisses, hugs, wine and dine,
But because finally we realized that
It was not as selfish individuals, and not alone
That we could win this war?