Months of Not Kissing

A Poem

Image by mikegi from Pixabay

I cannot eat at the picnic
because I left my face at home.
Someone offers me their face
although it has no mouth.

I put it on anyway, cut out a mouth
but my breath falls out
killing elderly gentlemen
who are serving nurses for tea.

I eat all the ant cakes.
My tongue sticks to an ant
and follows it back to its hill.
It is my tongue versus the ant.

But my tongue
is unfit from months of not kissing
or speaking
or laughing.

It cannot crawl fast enough
for the gathering countries
who are cheering or booing
for me or the ant to win.

The economy,
especially the jungle’s share price,
depends on the outcome
of our race.

My tongue shrivels up
while the gentlemen back at the picnic
are resuscitated and return
to serving nurses to tea.