I was trimming my beard the other day when I asked myself, "Why am I doing this? Why am I putting so much effort into maintaining this beard when no one can see it?" The end result of that thought process was this poem.
Looking in the mirror,
Study my
reflection.
Brushing the tiny
hairs,
Carefully clip and
trim
The mustache and
the beard.
I wish it were
thicker
(And that I saw
less gray),
But I think it
looks good.
One last look to
make sure.
Then I put on my
mask
So I can go
outside
Into a world
that’s changed.
Our lives are
different now.
This virus has
taken
So much from all
of us.
Kept us from each
other.
Forced us to cover
up
Each time we go
outside.
No one has seen my
face
In such a long
time. But
What happens to
that face,
Underneath the
paper,
That still belongs to me.
The virus can’t
have that.
This virus has
taken
So much from all
of us,
But can’t take
everything.
So, yes, I trim my
beard
And clean up the mustache
To remind myself
that
The world hasn’t
ended.
That the face I
see when
I look in the
mirror
Has not vanished
for good
And the day will
come when
We’ll all take off
our masks.
And, maybe, on that day,
I’ll meet a pretty
girl
Who’ll think that
my beard makes
Me look like Iron
Man…
What? It could so
happen!
(You don’t know!)
