When you are mad at yourself,
who is mad at whom?
The perfectionist berates the lesser
achiever. The clumsy at heart
seeks the suavity of the dresser
of presentations, honing his part.
Some continue to go over the past
and its hall of mirrors. Even
now we observe as in a badly
synchronized movie, always delayed
just off the present. The shoulder
tires from from looking over it.
Why do we remember some moments
of long ago again & again
while other years are gone?
In the public square
I watch the flare of nostrils,
the waving hair, the unguarded stare,
no care truly hidden from
the knowing eyes of strangers.
We all pass each other without
the details that fill us all out.
I see the moving lips in the crowd,
but I am somewhere else
putting the touches on my presentation,
so you will see me
as I want to be seen.
Some of our masks fall
in our private mirror.
Oh, see me
as I see you & may we
be satisfied with
the reflected truth.