Tea party

I’m so very tired,
of what I see on TV:
the Adonis, the Adona
prominently displayed.

I do not mean to say
that they are not praiseworthy,
but where are the people
who look like me?

Where are the crows feet,
and the other battle scars of aging?
Where are the acne scars,
and the stretch marks?

Where are the five-o’clock shadows
and the two-day stubble?
Where are the casual clothes –
because fuck this suit and tie.

Instead we are presented with
perfection, waxed and polished,
practiced in the mirror,
and previously recorded
so it could be whitewashed.

Instead they display a still life,
desperately clinging onto life.
But life is movement and change,
and I watch them as I walk by,
smiling at me with the dull eyes of dolls.

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