Corona

Their eyes like peepholes in a front door, Suspicious and narrow. Masks made in China, Surgically striking The tremor of the hidden chin, the curve of the lip That was once contagious to us too, And made us feel we shared a fate. The gloves we were handed Ask if we may touch Another human being. “Once,” I explain to the girl, “We used to see one another In the street, We shook hands, Sometimes even embraced. Alcohol, we drank So as not to be afraid.” She breathes heavily, struggling To remember, But her glasses fog up, And she sees only mist.