Sunday, October 27, 2019

Sunday poem


A life spent on squared off stages
Brightly lit, glassed hair salons
Kitchens, conference rooms, coffee shops.
Everyone gets watched.
It’s always such a performance
Touch up, tummy tucks, airbrushed

I’d rather be off stage
In the shadows
Cloaked by velvet curtains
Cutting unwieldy curls by feel
In the dark recesses of the few. 
Here we know to whisper,
Lined faces bruised or shadowed.
We’re all ready for our cue;
Unkempt, unlit, unscripted.


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