Smells Like Smeared Mascara

Waves of joy

like froth at the mouth of a French Bull Dog

or a teacup Yorkie’s drizzle

both rabid with excitement

anticipation surging

like sinking your chops into perfectly seared sirloin

or diving into Wakulla Springs on a 100-degree day.


Swells of contempt for opinions flow

as easily as turning the knobs on a Moen faucet

debates to mask or not to mask

vax or vax not

do more than destroy unity

divide slinks in like a mosquito

masking mountains.


Snakes slither among the elected

the rejected cry out “Foul” and “Fake”

our young outcry the old

like hungry wolves demanding equity through flesh

renaming identities and removing symbols  

statues crumble as they cannot form a more perfect union.


Currents of dandelion-puff spores  

go down easier than chants of which life matters more

or who profiled who

man-made monsters or breakthroughs in science

decades of aid erupt in the night

as cells and soft shells left to fight have no will

or might.  


Yet, ripples of kindness permeate small corners

atmospheres of apple cinnamon spice sachets

bursts of bubbles blown to a toddler

chamomile soothes the stench of death

prayers for love and peace

to wash away the scars of this world

until then, waterproof mascara is a thing

medicine for the soul.


What are you looking for?