Discarded, a poem

 Discarded

I found a new mask to wear today —
it fit as well as the last;
the old one was best thrown away,
a vestige of the past.
But when I showed how I had changed,
folks stared at me aghast;
I think some thought me quite deranged —
some ran very fast!

Perhaps, I thought, I have been rash —
I do seem to appall;
and found amid the other trash
the face they should recall.
Discarded once, but never more,
yet I hear voices fall,
and folks shrink from me as before —
it wasn’t my mask at all.

Stephen Brooke ©2023

first draft-ish and may well change