The Man Behind The Mask

A poem.

When it first began, he fell hard for the global scam, because experts said, and so he was led, he bought into the lie, he ‘helped’ to prevent more dead

He feared for his life, for the life of his wife, for their children, their parents, and the danger of ‘variants’

He was doing his part for the greater good of all, modestly heroic, pride comes before the fall

He muzzled his infant child, because everyone else was doing it too, he bought designer masks, so his peers thought him well to do

A lanyard for all the family, to wear their masks like a necklace, for it not to be in reach, would be entirely reckless

Mask-off, sip a drink, hide the face, or what will people think? He wears it to keep you safe, yet needs you to wear one too, for the spellbind only works when it is cast on all within view

Cases surge, death tolls mount, transfixed by screens, his every action counts

A second mask can’t hurt, a third will surely bolster, hand sanitiser added, kept in an extra holster

His face is full of weeping sores, acne, and pouring sweat, it is 50 degrees °C outside, yet #StayingSafe he never forgets

Four long years it’s been, now he rarely shows his face, interactions without the mask are unthinkable and would bring certain disgrace

He knows he is still a hero, yet he is modest in his endeavours, come rain or shine, new normal divine, gives him strength to know #WeAreInThisTogether

Some days he remembers his carefree past, smiling at a stranger, or laughing without the mask, he thinks of those times fondly, yet he accepts that they were not to last

His once handsome face, now pallid with dark sunken eyes, his rancid halitosis, self loathing to silent cries

Who did he used to be? When did he lose his identity? A vacated vassal, a hollowed out shell, a mere shadow of a man, a sentient death knell

He quietly commutes by train to work, anonymously hidden, quietly smirks

Three masks pulled up, sunglasses down, hat worn tight, air-buds for sound

He spots an old friend on the train, he is about to say hello, the friend hasn’t noticed the man behind the mask, so he turns and remains unknown.

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Nicholas Creed is a Bangkok based writer. All content is free for all readers, with nothing locked in archive that requires a paid subscription. Any support is greatly appreciated.

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