Ode to the Fallen Masks

A dedication to the face masks on the ground.

Images provided by author

There is something sad about a fallen mask —

Pressed into the ground, trodden, forgotten,

Once a soldier with a valiant task,

Now crumbles as they receive their pardon.

What is a fallen mask to do, pressed to the street rather than a nose?

Collecting dirt and dust not breath,

Long gone from its companion who no longer shows,

Talking to ants and pebbles, afraid of its death.

Dear fallen mask, you are not alone —

Homemade cotton ones, the timeless surgicals,

Crushed N95s who lost their cone,

Fear not! You still got that twinkle.

You have fallen from heads but can still save face,

Because no matter where you lie,

Your duty is remembered, one you held with grace,

Catching bad breath, and sneezes, and spit, oh my.

May you stay grounded,

Earloops giving leaves, dirt, pebbles a squeeze.

Thank you for all that you did,

Now may you rest in peace.