The theme is Face with alliteration as a suggested device:
I Can’t See My Face
There are films of droplets of fog:
on the inside of my glasses I can’t see. I can’t see my face.
It rains in the mask under the fog.
A drop from my nose sliding down, sliding down, lying on my lip then down past my chin.
Once it’s on, covering my nose and mouth I can’t blow my nose or wipe it.
Get used to it like an itch you can’t scratch, can’t touch or the spikes will be inside my cells far away from my face.
I will walk in the mask. It’s paper. It’s cloth.
Faces now we are eyes, I am eyes gazing out from foggy glasses.
The wind, the ties behind my ears, earrings, mask, hat on top, earbuds, they all work together or else the earring gets stuck in the mask tie and the earbud falls out. The mask has to stay. On. On my face. Earrings can fall off. Hats help.
Everyone’s face is covered.
Not the pizza man. I stand as far as I can, order the same.
One time he saw me and put his mask over his nose and even got gloves.
I wait for the pizza and garlic knots.
It’s hot making pizza all day. It’s cold doing sessions all day.
I wear my coat blanket.
The mask in the hallway. I see my face when I wash my hands.
My face, eyes glasses, hair not good today. Rush back to my door.
Inside without it, I put on my new lipstick, “Hype”. It feels good. The perfect dark pink.
I answer the call and see my face in the corner. All day on the screen or covered with the mask.
Now I’m lying down in the dark and have no face. Just the music in my pillow and the candle lit.
She said, “wearing a mask is an act of love.” At the end of the evening newest news, bad badness.
Love is strangely still here in this rotting time. Hiding from the sickness behind my love mask.