A visitor

My hair is clung with sweat to my head

I’m wearing the same dress he last saw me in

And a sick mask like a hospital patient

Or a Chinese citizen

Where the smog is so thick

It’s sometimes hard to see

And all he can say is

“What’s that necklace you’re wearing?”

“It’s the evil eye,” I croak. “I think someone put a curse on me.”

“Oh. Its pretty. Hey, you want me to read you a story?”

This is the kind of man, I think, who notices but then, is careful not to notice.

I like him.

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