Masks – a Poem

I type into google
  a   m a s k
expecting the spook of the season
in orange and white and green
for pumpkin or ghost or Frankenstein
or black, the cat, the witch, the vampire
or red, for gore and blood, for devil
instead the blue
sheets fill the screen.
The same that lie discarded
trodden on roadsides 
remnants of a crisis in motion
laid to rest on the side, 
as we attempt moving on. 

There are more masks than two;
there are the beauty kind, 
the soft slumber goes on the eyes few,
then there are the invisible, hard to find
to pin point on the face facade. 
But the clinical is fairly new
and 'the mask' of the moment.
Forget the scares, the BOO
or metaphor or clay.
A mask today
is practical, for you
and me, our barrier
like an artificial skin.