The Distance Between US

My shadow is waiting patiently to yell at me,
reading Sartre's Being and Nothingness, my ankle
brushing against its thigh.

Too bad you had to sell your soul to stay alive!

There's something odd about it today, sometimes we're
kindered cousins, and sometimes Camusian strangers, needing
psychotherapy, typically the distance between us is larger than
six feet.

I don't want to have bad feelings  toward it, I 've looped around it several times to keep it from dragging us to the ground. If it were thinner it'd be easier!
I correct myself giving it a reassuring smile to let it know life's easier without
quarrels between us – as long as we keep a healthy distance, far enough to avoid a handshake, and close enough to keep company in this bitter year of grief.  It asks
how do we fight someone whose strength we don't understand?
You never know when it needs a kidney from me. I am its distraction and
vice versa.
Yesterday we settled into seats facing one another. It laughed
life's better in this barren habitat of solitude. But I wasn't ready
for an after-the-quarantine talk, I pushed away and turned to leave
but it nuzzled its face into my neck, demanding to know how I can
feel so perfectly when my wife's in hospital. We're both getting used to
no need for human contact – social distancing's ultimate effect.