Torn Mask

Look what it is to ride out a pandemic
the tear of masks from a new pup, call him Brandy,
from the makers of masks in China or Russia via your school or workplace
not made for the bite of a dog who mistook the mask for a bone.
You noticed another pile by the entrance to the M5 bus,
comfort to know there is more by the door,
paper and cloth masks
in a glass bowl or on a silver hook.
And look what it is to give your mask away,
three times now, and to grab another,
in three different multiverses, oh tears
for the people, the older, the younger, or maybe born on your same birthday
birth year,
who forget their masks or must wear the oxygen mask
alone in a buzzing room with hazmat suits,
flowers by the door, pings on the hospital floor,
sirens closer or passing your home
where you left no room, only tears,
for the M5 ride or the dog walk or the recovery room, 
torn mask by the door
for the freezing long hauler.

Inspired by today’s Poetry Foundation poem Torn Coat by Gerald Stern

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