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Masks don’t fit the norm anymore
where I walk our dog.
I feel the novel pressure of disdain.
But then, I can drive back home,
take the color from my face
and wash my hands of it all.
I know that I am safe.
June 8 2020
Monday, June 8, 2020
Protector
I will think instead of the lighthouse
not the constant sea that drives me
toward a disastrous shore on waking.
Then the wheel spins useless
and I have no baulk to stop it
only the gentle call that tells me
the ledge is still far away
and there may yet be time to turn.
June 8 2020
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