Masks

Thieves

Last night I bore my hands in the manner

Of a mutual friend, let’s call him Guy

A man who kneads air to make a point

Casts handfuls of hymnal dust to the winds

When words alone are not enough or hewn

Rough, a soothing courtliness to wear down

Finning dorsal flashing, time worn gestures

You graced with proper attribution, words

Rendered by a languid orchestration

Of Mona Lisa’s shameless smile stifled

Seconds before the more famous one and

A merry jig of cheek and brow by way  

Of your old Aunt Lib.  George Clooney then, the

Crinkled grin, self-deprecation leavened

With a sly sense of imminent mischief

Your gauzy skirt perhaps snagged and lifted

From behind in a maneuver lifted

From a cane twirling Little Tramp but

For a forthright dressing down by a no

Nonsense Kate Hepburn the Gerald Ford in

Me should have seen coming, my mugging leer

Reminding you of no one so much as

Esteban, our ingratiating pool-

Side bar keep at the Royal Catalonia

Tulum.  Your mother, my father, sensible

People that they were, sat silent witness

Ready to step in, infuriating

Qualities we wear like puckered old scars.