My Poetry. Behind the Screen..

Yes, come right over and just breathe on me,
I suppose I have been stuck here long enough now—
I am merely a fixture, a cheap fitting in the shop,
Like a badly recorded, off-key song.

Take off your paper mask and then try to talk to me;
I'll remain perfectly safe behind my plastic screen.
I have no idea of all the homes you have visited,
Or the hundreds of strangers you may have seen!

This exhausting pandemic has dragged on for so long,
And still, some of you will foolishly insist;
Don't you understand the deadly nature of this plight?
Do you not even begin to get the gist?

I work and work without a single thought or care
For the sanctity of my own personal life;
Who truly cares if I suddenly pass away,
Leaving behind my young son and grieving wife?

All this sacrifice is just for you to remain fed,
And happily watered with lots of your precious gin.
Then you go home, and that disposable mask is tossed
Quickly into a flimsy recycle bin.
I will stay here, and you will come and go,
Sometimes visiting this shop three times a day.
You'll wear the same stained mask you always do,
And behind it, I can only assume you quietly pray.

But while you and your family remain blissfully safe,
I'm honestly happy to remain standing here for you.
I am "overly protected," I have all my sterile gear,
And a lukewarm, easily forgotten milky brew.

It will always be like this, it seems,
Well, at least for a few more months or so.
So get used to this weary, weird scenario
As you casually come and frequently go.

Just take care of yourselves when you walk away,
Don't spare a single worry about me;
I'll be right here, trapped behind the plastic screen,
Masked and utterly resigned, but somehow still free.