I mistakenly think it’s Deacon John behind the mask.
|I walk with haste the aisle Save-A-Lot;
Corona Virus gets the best of me.
Behind the mask is someone that I spot;
their eyes are which I base identity.
I wave but then my wave is not returned;
it is a simple gesture in the store.
Though crisis looms, annoyance stirs when spurned;
yet I indict myself forevermore.
I take it as a slap across my face;
my ego wounded by the impolite.
Therefore in haste I shop and flee this place,
to gain the April air and morning light.
I am mistaken and feel like a knave,
as Deacon John drives in and gives a wave.