Countenance

Sometimes I forget I’m in charge of my face
And briefly catch sight of expressions misplaced,
Uninvited reflections in mirrors-shined tops
Or peering from windows of high-street shops,
A stark and scary prospect
From which my mind is disconnected,
Somewhat unexpected
And really rather stark
-That furrowed-browed expression
Could exacerbate depression
And there’s really no question
It would scare me in the dark…!
There is a sequence, though,
In this silent transformation,
The gradual relinquishing
Of anticipation,
The lines upon my forehead
All prearranged in rows
A seaside-scape of puzzlement
From which expression grows.
I blame my eyebrows wholly
For this disproportionate folly,
Their collapsing in collusion
Promoting such illusion
As though I am a psychopath
Deep-set in contemplative wrath
When really it’s a simple thing
Where clarity is due, I think.
As much as I would like to be
Thought deep in philosophy
My countenance betrays me,
This forehead-wrinkling misery
An unconscious reflex
Configuring my features
With sole intent to vex.
So if, perchance, you see me
When shambling down the lane
Looking too preoccupied,
Expressions of disdain,
Please find it in your heart
To take a second glance-
Reach out and greet me
Give my face a second chance…

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