The too-many
toothed grin
conceals.
Not just what
you know,
but what they
don't know.
The collar
conceals.
A sign of invisibility
and invincibility.
Seen by no one.
Listening to no one.
The black suit
conceals.
Making you more
than what you are.
Creating the illusion
that you're
not
flawed.
3 comments:
Hey fellas. I'm back. I've been meaning to post, but haven't had much time. This poem was inspired by my stepdad. He's a priest and he's also a dick.
Glad to see you back, bud. I hope all is well.
I recall a previous poem of yours noting your stepdad as wielding the tv remote like a scepter. This adds to his portrait. The priest, as a spiritual guide, is often perceived as infallible. I like that you note the uniform as a kind of disguise, almost like a superhero (or supervillain) that projects this illusion of perfection. Another strong entry into a family album you seem to be constructing in your throwawaypoetry collection.
I like the poem, but I see a lot of potential here, considering your mighty powers of description. You could continue with the "conceals" metaphor and use the confession booth, hiding behind the bible, etc. With the comment you left above, I want to know what he does at home that contradicts his priesthood. Just some thoughts.
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