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.