Poems of the Week


by Jenna Le

My favorite kind of mask is clear:
the sort with loops around each ear.
It stays in place without relying
on knots at risk of self-untying
and has no pesky sideways cord
to gouge a groove into one’s gourd,
to bunch one’s hair into a hill,
or slither north and south at will.
My sis prefers another type:
when strings weigh on her ears, she’ll gripe.
She’s partial to a mint-green hue,
while I like my face masks sky-blue.
As for my mom, she scratched her head
to see masks candy-striped in red,
believing cool-toned masks would be
endowed with more solemnity.
A guy I met once at the gym
opines the thing that bothers him
is masks’ faint antiseptic scent.
“That’s how good health smells,” I dissent.
To think some people didn’t know
their tastes in masks just weeks ago!