I never took a good look before.
I suppose I never wanted to.
But he kept asking me to regard him.
Begging me, really. So, I did.
“Aren’t I beautiful?” he said.
And he was in a way.
Like the sparkling lights of Vegas,
before smoke and perfume remind you why you’re there.
Regarding him,
I must say it was hard
to make out the contours of his face,
decorated as it was for the main act.
You know those fairytales
about his actual presentation?
Farce.
Boogeyman tales to drive home the point.
He can go that route, of course,
if he chooses.
What’s the saying—he can wear many faces?
That part is true.
But he prefers this pretty one,
and as he stood there,
preening,
I thought no dressing room in the world would be big enough.
Sensing his impatience,
I offered him a shallow,
“Yes,”
and stepped in for a closer look.
This pleased him.
“Yes, come, I don’t mind,” he said,
mistaking my intent
and my history.
But as expected, the shine dimmed
the closer I got—
as it is with most things
of unnatural design,
Only I was surprised to see how stretched,
how thin and sallow.
Like a hide left out
in the sun too long.
Almost holey,
entirely plausible
that if you tapped it with your finger,
it would go right through.
And I marveled at what I already knew.
That the glow—all that chutzpah—was just a mirage.
A lighthouse designed
to land you on the rocks.
A hope for us to keep looking,
and after seeing him clearly,
still remain close—
so he won’t feel so alone.
— ❧ —
A Departure
This poem is a bit of a departure, thematically, for me. It doesn’t mean I’m moving away from nature—on the contrary, just towards the whole of it. But just because it’s different from mountain climbing or nature poems, doesn’t mean I shouldn’t share it, right? What’s the point of holding onto anything until it’s forgotten or turns to dust? Hope you liked it!