my panic sack would have
contained enough breath
to blow out most of this
year’s birthday candles

inverted,

a mask tumbles out like
some kind of lung-wallet,

hinting whispered
passwords

i hyperventilate into it
with resignation upon
each casting of a socially
distant wave

splashing between crests—

a sense of security swells
in my chest as i drown in

absolute safety...


"pest bag"
©2020 by Seranaea Jones
all rights reserved