Won't you please, sir, put on your mask?

The world is temporarily closed
or at least, the world as I know it.
On the news, I hear of a world still open,
open to a careful reemerging from their bunkers.

So you say the world is temporarily closed
due to COVID, or due to ignorance?
I've seen people saying it's their right
to not do their part in this battle.
The sheer stupidity has cost lives,
but for you, are they just ever-growing numbers on a screen?
Because what are mere pawns when you are king?

The world is temporarily closed
but mine may not be "temporary"
if we move to an open one for the sake of living
outside of this bubble they keep popping.
I know I will never be the same again
because a year in a life is all it takes
to crush the bones of my soul
and rearrange my lost shards some new way.

The world is temporarily closed
but is that any excuse to close your mind,
remove yourself from any sense of survival?
You are bleeding us of our sanity
by stabbing us while the danger still looms,
ever seeking those tiny rifts of vulnerability.
You've carelessly ripped them into gaping mouths of death.
Oh, do you know what you've done?

The world may be temporarily closed
but my dear, you've turned temporary into an eternity.
Do you know my grandpa thinks he can walk to China now?!
This monster has driven us all up the wall.
Are you so intent to push us off it?
The planner's pages flip fast, but every day you don't wear
that banner, a promise for an open world, over your mouth,
you turn our lives into a somber drive toward permanent.
So, won't you please, sir, put on your mask?

amaryllis

CA

YWP Alumni

More by amaryllis

  • Forgotten altars

    You blink and look and stare
    and stare

    As if trying to find the snag in the dream
    the catch in the sweater
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    The meaning of this miracle that tapped you on the elbow
  • You, Tree

    As I sit on this stump and read
    from these pages of your cousin's pulped flesh,
    I burst with the excitement of next year seeing you draped in color,

    You. master of graceful loss.

    You, vessels of wasted breaths,
  • spiraling

    Spiraling odes of love and loss,
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    each one with a piece of myself I do not want to see anymore.

    what have I created?