Poetry Tuesday: XIX

Hello! Happy Poetry Tuesday! It kind of happened on a spur-of-the-moment thing, but I think sometimes that works out for the best. This Tuesday is a Casey original, and I’m keeping with my unintentional theme of things that happen as I try to transition into graduate school life.

The Man on the Bus

I saw a man on the bus.
His face was perfect.
His skin was like the back of a Hershey bar:
unvaryingly smooth and glowing.

His teeth were straight like garden rows,
whiter than virgin snow and just as bright.

His angular jaw was outlined with a trail of salt
poured with the utmost care.

Above a slightly pointed chin sat his mouth,
sculpted in such a way that if a hunter
modeled a bow after its shape,
he could never miss his target.

Further up sat his eyes, deep-set and
the color of a cup of coffee:
no cream, no sugar, just pure.

This man on the bus had no nose.
Between his eyes and mouth were two holes,
separated by a scar, marking where a nose
might have been.

How he came to be without a nose is
inconsequential.

I’m sure there is a story, but it’s a story
that has little to do with the story of
the man and me.

Society tells me it is unkind to stare-
for some reason this man is defined
by his nose.

But the man has a perfect face,
and I cannot look away,
at least not because of what others are
blind to.

I will look, and be in awe of such a
perfect face. – C.E.H.

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