Silence Lies, Broken

silence lies, broken

Silence lies.

Ground Hog’s Day matinee
plays broken record,
third time today, semi-collapsed,
one-eyed skull stares at me
from the TV with the ease
of a game-show host,
expressions big,
like a silent-movie star.

I lie. Silence is not complete.
Broken by life’s dull rhythm,
the plink-plink playacting
in the greasy dishwater
of a rusted sink,

it is lulled awake
by the self-righteous stench
of a converted sinner, hocking
his snake oil infomercial,
iconic blessed hankies,
fat pink face sweating
under a bad toupee,

the bolt upright,
perfectly knotted silk-tie
anchor of fresh nightly news,
chiseled chin pulled
ever-so-slightly
to the right, for emphasis.

Full and loud,
from the putty-nose school
of acting, sullen and wild,
silence lies, broken.




Tess Kincaid, September, 2010

Posted over on her site Life at Willow Manor




Painting by Andrew Wyeth--Willow's image of choice