The pastel silhouette of a face pushes itself through a sheet,
Sketching the faintest of features
In the folds of the fabric,
Telling itself it’s poking holes in the rubric,
Tracing paper eyebrows that lack all viscosity.
A placeholder ellipsis scribbled in to mimic pomposity
Makes scoffing so easy it sticks in her throat
A mix of smokers catarrh and afternoon coffee.
The lickle-spit envelope flap of silver scarecrow thatch droops
Limply over squashed features. Carved from pumpkins and
Badly transposed from cellulose.
Beneath the adipose lies a life so varicose,
First blanching, then flushing purple and red through
The thick, plump flesh gorging on her
Swollen, twisted ankle of a face.
Doughy as a suet ball, plump dumpling
Bobbing in a stew; can’t trace the bevel
But then what else is new?