Mask

 

Mask

 

 

Less disease, less death,

only a shortness of breath,

imprisoned by a man-made mesh,

in a gasp of black and blue.

Is that you? Or is it me. So hard to see:

Uneasy to tell if a mouth is smiling

when only steamed eyes are left.

Even they are lost under shaggy fringe,

as they slowly forget how to smile.

Clammed up in chowder growing colder,

half facing, half faces growing older

frozen into mocked up greeting.

Is it possible to remember

that last time you inhaled her mouthful

of dizzy kiss? Particular particulates,

born of air too toxic to taste,

keep safe distance just in case.

In a giddy fit of revolution,

I ripped that plaster from my mouth.

Underneath my nose, lips exposed,

pulled it hard beneath my chin.

It might’ve revealed sardonic grin,

had there been any warmth within,

as elastic snapped with vicious sting.