What I find fascinating is that the masks tend to usually be the same. Friendly demeanour, just wants to get the job done. It’s almost as if it comes as part of the uniform.
I feel the presence of this metaphorical mask at work myself. When I see people I know come through, slipping into friendly dialog doesn’t come instantly — it feels like I have to put a conscious effort to snap out of the persona I’ve placed on myself to be sociable. It’s strange.
So anyway, enough rambling — here’s a poem reflecting on the idea of masks.
Masks Into shops we shuffle,
our wallets on a binge for comfort foods stocked by skin stuffed with porcelain
Found amidst the checkouts, where time loses its pace a figure stands, eyelashes all ribboned up with lace
Words are always spoken but the mask is hot with day or night, it matters not the sentence stays the same Thanks for reading, Dean. Email ThisBlogThis!Share to TwitterShare to Facebook
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