I used to get very annoyed with my mask
each day I’d implore, “Is it too much to ask -
that my glasses don’t steam up when I walk in a shop
or to not have to swallow down buckets of snot?”
But lately my viewpoint has started to waiver
as I discover new uses for this multi-lifesaver
like wiping the grit from my spectacle lenses
or warming my beard when I’m out mending fences.
Then there are subtler means of employ
(I’m not talking about some ***** *** toy)
where this sliver of material,
though appearing unmanly,
has proven itself surprisingly handy.
Only last week, on a long evening walk
I crept into a church round the back of Earls Court
and sat down to the tones of an ***** concerto
that whirled within me like Dante’s Inferno.
Out of the blue I began to cry
emotions stuffed deep inside reached for the sky,
streams gushed forth from each quivering eye lid
I’d not wept so fiercely since being a kid
yet though it did not cover the whole of my face
with my mask pulled high I was
at least,
saved some disgrace.
When this is all over (I promise it will)
hold a thought for how
your mask did fulfill
so many functions,
besides helping you survive
and perhaps carry one in your pocket
to keep the memory alive.
