My Mask

My mask
cleans up nice.
Guys talk rot to it,
and it talks back.

My mask 
goes to work,
spouts input,
yaps at clients.

Punks
get in my mask,
tell it we're a bitch.
My mask changes parking lots.

Let's sit here, mute as dummies you and I.
We'll watch our masks
talk
smile
kiss
tongue
more real than we have been in years.
______ 

for Words Count with Mama Zen.
 

Comments

TexWisGirl said…
too much of that in the world...
hedgewitch said…
Yeah, that one hits close to home. As always, Shay, you take a simple concept and make it ripple with nuance and meaning.
I think this probably hits many close to home--certainly it does me--more real than I wish, my mask
mac said…
Sometimes, I think my mask may be more liked than the wearer.
Sherry Blue Sky said…
It occurs to me that it isn't till age has turned my face into a real mask.....Halloween, Anyone?.......that I don't give a damn and have no mask at all. Very freeing. Loved your poem. You really See!
Mr Puddy said…
I got whiskers, Pretty sure I don't need mask =^x^=
Sioux Roslawski said…
One of my favorite lines:

"Guys talk rot to it, and it talks back."
Maude Lynn said…
That third stanza really gets me. I love this, Shay.