House of Endurance

Haolun Xu

She called me to pick her up, but by the time I drove to the block,
three men in total pandemic suits were walking her out.
She thought if she’d turn her phone off, people couldn’t track her temperature,
but that’s not how they do things in Seoul, or anywhere back east.

I stood by my car chuckling. Killing me. She had on
the teal Maison Margiela, and the Eckhaus Latta belt.
Full-white chiffon, and she even wore the pumps. By the time
they got to the ambulance, she was levitating.

She told me later they fought with her
about wearing contour underneath the face mask. But
style is also a necessity. Our mutual religions.
She claimed it was for good luck,

although it was neither empirically
or medically a truism.
So daunting a shield, as saffron on sandalwood.
It’s my turn next week,

I’m wearing my Batman-Costume,
with the bulletproof chest plate to cover my heated lungs.
I have ’06 Halloween candy tucked into my pockets in case I need glucose.
The ambulance cheers my name, on my way to triumph.