In line on sidewalk, busy city street,

outside this not-too-fancy restaurant

A couple dozen people wait for takeout —

or for tables, few and far between, these distanced Covid days —

The would-be patrons stand there, calmly semi spaced,

a few, perhaps, over relaxed, a tad 'too close'

for current crushing protocols, but still compliant

cheerful-seeming, some chatting there

in rare sweet soft late winter sun

Some deep engaged, or faux engaged,

staring/glaring down into their tight-gripped screens

their so-beloved phones

Two, however, are differently engaged . . .

A giant curbside trash can, neat and clean,

Stands close at hand, more than waist high

With handsome domed protective top,

symmetric shapely gaps for throwing in

Appropriate, outside these take-away establishments

with their attendant, always so-abundant trash

But just now, currently, receptacle is not in play,

at least, not playing in intended mode

Despite the diners' many paper cups

and paper masks and cardboard plates

and sundry crackly wraps cascading forth

Today, here, on this restaurant row

A different restoration now, upon and over trash —

A man, gently hipstersque in knitted cloche and scarf

a sort of beardlike growth visible, though scant,

straggles a bit, looks soft, unsure wisps below grey fabric mask —

This man is there, is being hugged, fondled, and embraced

by fair-haired female, bouncy-bold in skinny jeans,

Big boots, t-shirt tight beneath her unzipped puffer vest

She's brazen, forcing him right out of line,

back, back against the tall trash can,

inch by insistent inch, 'til he's bent backward at the waist,

curved back receptive above receptacle's curved top

***

Glad you had a chance to check out part one of PPE — part 2 follows . . . .