Puddle Puddle Puddle. It is nearly the 5th of May. There’s still Puddle Puddle Puddles. The coffee I got, tasted like Puddle water. Why is my iced cup of puddle water $4.80? At Least my croissant is. Flakey. And Buttery. Some would call this. Highway robbery. Trying to race. Contact trace. Contact race. Who can outrun Covid… In the contact race. Running. Running. Running. To La Quinta. An Airbnb. The Comfort Inn. I took a Covid-19 test the other week. The line was Murky, brown, wet, Like the puddle that was well acquainted with, Mr. Birkenstock Mr. B loves long walks in early May. He knows the puddles are gone by then. However, now he Muddles, muddles, muddles. Drenched with every step. Mr. B is put back on the shelf. It’ll be 60 this weekend. With a windchill of negative sixty. Did you hear there’s a chance of snow? Lawrence, can you change the weather? Antojitos? Can you not give me food poisoning? Birkenstock, can you wait a week? Soon, the puddles, puddles, puddles. Will be dry, dry, dry. Til’ then, I’ll wait… holding my puddle latte, Disguised as a large iced chai.