Faces

There are those you feel intuitively you can believe

soft, appealing, their frank, honest eyes

hide nothing – You can trust me , they say

as they invite you upstairs to their

studio apartments

or congratulate you on your good fortune

in having been selected

for an audition, a special discount, today’s great deal.

 

Their natures are indelibly painted on them

while others flash past you in streets, get into elevators,

smooth faces, bobbing painted balloons

crowds of them, floating now, as you sort them,

categorize: good from bad, honest from cunning

personalities stitched in pencil lines

of understanding, sympathy,

doubt, greed or fear.

 

You believe you can tell them apart.

 

Still, there are some you know who are not

who they seem – plasticine men and women

actors, con people, their daubed-on smiles

masks over duplicity.  Yes, there are those

who fool you, but not so many these days,

not so many.

 

You are more experienced.

 

You look up. Your mirror smiles back at you

it knows your secret

winks, won’t tell a soul.

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© Johnmichael Simon

2015

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