Thursday, September 11, 2014

Hard Words For The Plastic Surgeon

The good news lies in your steady hands
Where others have butchered, you caress
You've coaxed away every worry they've ever had
Like Picasso, Monet, and the minimalists rolled into one

You're everywhere, you're ubiquitous
You settled early in Westchester
Then caravanned along the East side
From 5th avenue to Park
Afterwards you flourished your way downtown
You're nothing if not prolific

I see your handiwork in the waiting rooms, the crosstown bus.
I see it at the luncheon and the ritual meeting of the Town Car after school
I feel its presence after Labor Day
Everyone taut, everyone so well rested

You're selling the before before the after
Before the affairs, the failures, the tarnish, the nest egg
The days of wine and roses that never really were - not really
You're artisan of a beautiful dream
Your best work done before you've done any work at all

It's not your doing when it falters
All the luxury on God's green earth
Can't approximate the winsome, the dewy, the gamine, the glade
No abundance of steely resolve
Can turn cloying potpourri into fresh iris petals

You can't bring back the night on the town, the shared cigarette, the waking at noon
A quick splash of water from the bathroom sink, then out to do it all over again

There's no replicating the debutant ball, the grand entrance, even the catcall
With that wide gash of a mouth or the over stretched canvas
So tight it hurts us all to look

I hate to be the one to tell you
It gets worse before I'm done
My answer rests with the faint whiff of formaldehyde
The apology implicit in the bandages
The sad eyes lolling in Plasticine
It's the sting of knowing
The best of the best is still not good enough

No comments:

Post a Comment