I’ll never be as proper as you,

all trussed up in that slick silk tie
and those laced and lacquered shoes,
perky white collar (like leisure-to-go
in place of sun glasses) fits
your stiff and perfectly-aligned neck
— the one that’s never been craned,
keeping your eyes level, straight ahead
and focused in at all times. You see
only your own goals in the distance
and the reflection of your own eyes
in the lenses of those cold
metallic frames,
cropping Life from Yours.

No, I’ll never be as proper as you.
(trained to suck the marrow from Life
rather than the other way around)

c. Mary Kathryn Gough, (2002?), edit 15 Nov ’11

2 thoughts on “Prop.erAs

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