image from penbaypilot.com
Sichuan
“I believe in my mask. The man I made up
is me.”--Sam Shepard.
On that first date,
the mask you wear
is mannequin--
not a wrinkle,
not a care.
Behind the Ray-Bans,
under the Borsalino,
you seem to have no eyes,
no window
to peek within.
For the office,
facing the boss,
the smile is greasepaint;
sincerity is your loss.
Looking at your spouse
after decades of marriage,
you become the king of masks--
swishing through the mix
flawlessly, like an old Disney
flip-animation tablet, although
your actual face,
your real thoughts,
your genuine emotions
are making more appearances
monthly.
But in the mirror, under
the blade,
the comb,
the deodorant,
the powder, paint & spray,
you watch daily
as the wild man
with unruly hair,
several day’s growth of beard,
and bacon between his teeth,
that guy you slept as,
who hides nothing,
becomes
the scrubbed, button-down automaton, with
that day’s supply of masks geared up and
ready to camouflage-one for every encounter,
who now is prepared to rush out and join the
counterfeit conflagration of all those other
frozen Com media faces on route to their ruts.
When do the masks we
choose finally fray--become
just unwearable?
Glenn Buttkus
Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub
7 comments:
I suppose when the masks become unwearable we make new ones since we have to present ourselves in some way to others and we aren't really sure who we are.
...or with age we know very well who we are, and we don't give a damn if it fits anyone's expectations! There are some benefits of old age!
I have never actually had a date, so I don't know if men (or women) put on masks when they meet. I have, however, watched a programme in the UK called 'First Date' in which strangers are set up at a restaurant in London especially for people looking for partners. I couldn't do that! Which is why I enjoyed your poem, Glenn, as it makes me feel I am not weird for never wanting to go on a date.
I especially like the jaunty rhyming in the first stanza, like someone whistling as they get ready to go out on the town. And then come the lines:
Behind the Ray-Bans,
under the Borsalino,
you seem to have no eyes,
no window
to peek within'.
Worrying!
I also worry about:
'facing the boss,
the smile is greasepaint;
sincerity is your loss'.
Good question:
When do the masks we
choose finally fray--become
just unwearable?'
I like to think I've never worn one - but then, isn't the Internet just another mask to hide behind?
I sometimes think that whatever masks we wear... the fakes smiles, the clothes whatever we do to please (or scare) others works inwards... or do they flake and become unwearable?
These lines:
"swishing through the mix
flawlessly, like an old Disney
flip-animation tablet, "
WOW! This is such a powerful and right-on image for the prompt!
And the man with "bacon in his teeth" ----
You've really nailed it, my friend!
I suppose none of us are immune to these transformations. It makes me wonder if masks were barely necessary when "society" was barely a thing. Did cave dwellers wear these masks? Hmmm....
I think I have always been terrified that I looked too ugly. I was on prednisone for many years and my double chin and chubby cheeks almost took over my entire head....and I felt so ugly and I wondered how anyone could love me. Then I would look at my cat, with his rolls of fat and his ripped ear and his missing tooth and his torn jaw as he threw his food around the kitchen accidentally as he ate and I think I realised that when we love someone/something we don't see what they look like, we see who/what they are to us. I don't think there is an unwearable mask when we love someone.
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