Talking with a mask on is a nuisance.
I open my mouth, I speak
Well into my conversation, I taste
Cloth.
Dry cloth folding in-between my lips
Kissing my tongue
In the instant before speaking
My Flight senses activate
“This is not normal! Is this what we’ve evolved to?”
Talking with a mask on is a hazard of life
And I hope you had forgotten your specs, but either way
You’re blind.
Fume starts clouding your vision
Tripping on isle five—vegetable station.
How to explain to the smiling essential worker
Why logs of yam
Boomerang plantain
Droplets of taro
Rocks of potato
All piled on the floor.
With a broken phone, unfit human
Loose leaves floating, onto the ceramic
Wearing these CDC-recommended masks is a ridicule
My ears being pushed forward like a monkey
We’re all walking around looking like a monkey
And the pain at the back of the ear is an unending story
I did not survive the hunting and gathering for this.
The air behind this mask is different.
Breathing wants to feel like
Inhaling through a stack of hay.
My body has to remind itself,
“You’re okay.”
You don’t have to activate your flight Tendency.
Because at least you can breathe,
At least you can see
At least you can hear
At least you can speak
At least you’re alive.
Please, wear a mask. Thank you for reading.
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