Today my father handed me a face mask,

not intended for exfoliating or moisturizing.

It sat amongst my things as I drove home.

I carried it up the stairs and placed it near my car keys–

so I won’t forget to wear it when I go to the grocery store.

As I turn away,

I glance over my shoulder at this new household item.

I’m reminded of a movie,

or maybe it was a TV show…

some sort of tragedy was unfolding,

and a doctor let it slip that the masks did nothing,

“We hand them out to keep the peace.”

I wonder if that’s where we’ve landed too.

At first they told us the masks didn’t do much,

now they’re telling us to make our own from fabric.

The inconsistency makes me believe,

it’s a means to keep me from panicking in the streets.

Even so,

I’ll wear the mask.


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