We all wear masks
Yes, we do
I’ll admit it
How ’bout you?
My mask these days
Is wrinkled, gray
My costume’s wrinkled
It’s my way
Frumpy comfy
Nondescript
For fancy clothes
I’m ill-equipped
About my mask
Hmm… let me think
In the mirror
Above the sink
There is a face
Looking back
Good God, it’s old —
I cry, “ACK!”
“You’re scaring me,”
I say to it
But ’tis my mask
I admit
Inside I’m young
You just can’t see
If you could
You would agree
The wrinkled face
Is just a mask
The frumpy clothes?
Hmm — don’t ask
This is my response to Linda Hill’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt: costume.
