The Maskerade Blues

Today’s landscape of worry bothers me
in a world where slow is still hurry.
What used to be go girl go — now is —
where’s my mask, gloves, phone, keys, don’t ask.

If I meet anyone outside, I take a good look
at the face but nothing’s there, only hair, brows,
eyes that size me up as I do likewise.
Do I know the person behind the KN95?

On the street if I see someone walking
toward me, I assess not mood, nor clothes,
but security of their mask. Is it loose
at the cheeks? Do I see a nose?

For those who are maskless, no excuse
can relax my vigil, so I move on, quickstep,
as if I was avoiding secondhand smoke
or, more accurately, Covid quicksand.

There’s an upside. Today I saw someone I thought
I knew, whom I didn’t want to talk to.
They didn’t recognize me. What a relief!
Covid offers anonymity.

But I’ve still got the Maskerade Blues,
so I’ll stay inside, dream of days I can leave
the house, breathe deeply in and out,
undaunted by random aerosols flying about.

Radio broadcast on NPR-WYNC, New York, NY, April 27, 2021, and on the Ozcat Artbeat Poetry Hour, Vallejo, California, January 27, 2022. Published in Waterways: Poetry in the Mainstream May 2021 (41:11), 11-12