Who Is that Masked Man?

Gone, the squeal of doors
that hermetically seal our children,
sans seatbelts, into rows that overflow
beyond the cushioned seats
made softer to protect.

I miss the sights and sounds
of those pencil yellow buses,
absent now as if engaged
in perpetual

Teachers, students, and all
the stages in between are learning
an in depth meaning of furlough.
Suddenly we are aware of the slightest
sneeze, the merest twinge

that might propel us
into that hinterland of quarantine
where skin tone and language
merge into one,  and masks protect
both the guilty and the innocent.

6 thoughts on “Who Is that Masked Man?

      1. Sarah,
        I’ve been stopping by and knocking on your door. I know last night it was a little late…I’ve missed you so much! It seems I only want the words of poets these days. You warmed my heart like a sunny summer afternoon in the woods. Seriously!

        1. My thanks, Dear Deb.

          We writers have a special bond that is only tightened by time and troubles and joys and successes. So glad our paths have met on this journey called life. You are a rare gem. Sarah

  1. BoardFlak

    Coronavirus has changed our thinking so much in such a short period of time. We hear of someone being ill, and instead of “what can I do for them” it’s “I better stay away from them”. It may be necessary, but it’s nonetheless regrettable.

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