We have become highwaymen and women
With our masks pulled tight
Over our nose and mouth
Now, we are in disguise
(But weren’t we always)
Wearing these things are either
An asthmatics nightmare
Or
A rapists delight
False smiles that don’t reach the eyes
Can be hidden
As well as manic grins
And angry little pouts
All of our foibles, now safely
Under that little piece of cloth
The opposite is also true
You can see
The twinkle in the eye
Of the genuine smile.
Things In My Head 